L is Real 2017: Face of Vengeance
by Shana Hager
Summary: Luigi is finally moving on from the bullying and harassment he's faced, thanks to Dr. Mario and a beautiful, intelligent psychiatrist. And now he's found a kindred spirit in Grant, a flashlight salesman who attends his support group. But just as he's picked up the pieces, unexpected tragedy strikes and pushes him back to the edge! Will a jury be able to save him this time?
1. Just an Average Day

**Just an Average Day**

 **Happy New Year, and welcome to my first story of 2017! I'm going to try and keep the plot focused this time, and fingers crossed that it won't run on for too long like the last one. Please, be advised that this tale will tackle sensitive subject matter, and it will get violent and disturbing at times. And now, without further ado, let's fasten our seatbelts and see how this story goes.**

* * *

 **Raindrops are falling on my head  
And just like the guy whose feet  
Are too big for his bed  
Nothing seems to fit  
Those raindrops  
Are falling on my head  
They keep falling. **

**So, I just did me some  
Talking to the sun  
And I said I didn't like the way  
He got things done  
Sleeping on the job  
Those raindrops  
Are falling on my head  
They keep fallin'**

 **But there's one thing I know  
The blues they send to meet me  
Won't defeat me, it won't be long  
Till happiness  
Steps up to greet me**

 **Raindrops keep falling on my head  
But that doesn't mean my eyes  
Will soon be turning red  
Crying's not for me 'cause,  
I'm never gonna stop the rain  
By complaining,  
Because I'm free  
Nothing's worrying me**

 **It won't be long  
Till happiness  
Steps up to greet me **

**Raindrops keep falling on my head  
But that doesn't mean my eyes  
Will soon be turning red  
Crying's not for me cause,  
I'm never gonna stop the rain  
By complaining,  
Because I'm free, 'cause nothing's worrying me**

 **-B.J. Thomas, "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head"**

It was a lovely day in the Smash universe. The sun peeped up over a cloudy sky as a rooster greeted it with its call. Morning dew glittered on blades of grass, and the light mist that had settled in the night began to disperse with the sun's rays. A beautiful morning of a beautiful new year.

Inside the Smash Mansion, a team of Miis set about preparing breakfast. Huevos rancheros were on today's menu, with a side of hash browns and an English muffin. Smells of the most important meal of the day drifted from the kitchen and toward the rooms where the Smashers slept.

In one of these rooms, a pair of blue eyes blinked open. An arm reached over to turn off the alarm before it sounded. Fingers combed back brown hair, disordered from sleep. The tall, mustachioed man gave a quiet yawn, stretched the fatigue out of his body and pulled the covers aside. He dragged himself out of the bed and jumped into the shower. The cold water blasted away the remnants of drowsiness and revitalized the pores in his skin. He soaped up his sponge with his favorite body wash and lathered away, once—twice—three times, as if scraping the rust away from a mighty battleship. Deep, pleasured sighs escaped him; the rejuvenating suds were so good to feel. And once he rinsed the body wash off, he braced himself against the wall and stood under the cascading cold water, going through a breathing exercise.

Squeezing a dollop of shampoo into his palm, he set to work on his hair, massaging deeply and getting his scalp squeaky clean, attacking the sneaky cracks and crevices. Then, he pampered the bangs along the back of his neck, getting them nice and sudsy. He was due for a haircut soon. Finally, he tipped back his head and allowed the shower spray to work through his lathered locks. He was cleaner than he'd felt in years.

At last, he was finished. He hopped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist and returned to the bedroom. There, he dried off, pulled on a pair of briefs and went to the closet, where he selected the day's outfit. A white shirt. A pair of dark green overalls. Peppermint-stripe socks. Nicely shined work boots. A Timex sports watch. A pair of white gloves. And a white cap with a green "L" on it.

Luigi Mario smiled affectionately at his reflection. Just a few days into 2017, and he felt great. His mind was on the mend from what so many vicious people had done to him. His faith in the justice system and in the Hand of Creation had started to restore. He'd come into the New Year with nothing but optimism. This was going to be the year when he picked up the pieces and truly started over!

He smiled and headed to the cafeteria to join the other Smashers for breakfast.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Luigi placed his tray on the table before making himself comfortable, greeting his companions with a beaming smile.

"Morning, Bro," said Mario "Jumpman" Mario. "You look unsinkable today."

"I feel unsinkable," replied Luigi. "It's like nothing can bother me anymore."

"We're glad you're doing better," chirped Princess Peach, taking a sip of orange juice. "It seems that 2017 is starting off well for all of us."

"You can say that again," said Evan Vidad, Luigi's former roommate. He looked over at his pregnant wife, Mandy, tears misting in his eyes. "When I became a Smasher, I never thought I'd meet 'the One' or start a family."

"How's the baby, by the way?" asked Luigi.

"Heathy and impatient to get out of there," smiled Mandy, rubbing her baby bump.

"Boy or girl?" asked Peach.

"Still too early in the game to tell," sighed Mandy, "but I'm starting to crave peanut butter and potato chips."

"Mandy and I are still baby-proofing our new room," said Evan. "Would you like to drop by and help?"

Luigi nodded. "It would be an honor."

"I was about a month or so along when we found out," Mandy said wistfully. "After we told Master Hand, he went light on my matches till I started to show, and then he placed me on maternity leave."

"And he started giving me half-days so I can take care of her," said Evan. "I might be placed on paternity leave soon. He's so sweet."

"You're right," said Luigi. "He is."

"How are you two, if you don't mind my asking?" queried Mario.

"Better," Luigi told him. "I can finally forgive him for our dust-ups in the past. And he's decided to take a tougher stance on harassment."

"Look how much it took for him to get there, though," murmured Peach.

"I know," said Luigi, "but the good thing is—Master Hand and I finally reached an understanding. I can come to him with my problems again. I can trust him again. It's like—our relationship is starting over from scratch."

He looked over at Peach and Mario. "How about you guys, though?"

"Truth is," began Mario, "we were raw at him for a few weeks. Although he un-suspended us and undid the nerf on Peach, we knew that things would never be the same between us. I knew what Master Hand was doing when he invited me and Peach to take over _his_ duties. And I guess it's working. Now that the three of us are spending more time together, the anger is wearing off."

"It's—therapeutic, if you will," added Peach. "Now, how about we stop talking about it? We closed the book on that nonsense when we closed the book on 2016. I want to focus on what 2017 has in store for us."

"Me, too," said Luigi.

The group finished their breakfast and went to check their schedules for the day.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Later that morning, the day's first matches had been fought, and Luigi's blood was pumping. His first bout of the day had been a timed free-for-all against Fox McCloud, Captain Falcon and Kirby. The latter two had wound up in a contest to see who could land the most Falcon Punches, while Fox simply peppered his foes with Blaster fire till someone closed in on him, at which point he attacked with fast kicks and tail swipes. Luigi had his usual strategy of using his fireballs to lure an unfortunate opponent into a living nightmare. Fox and Falcon fell victim to this more often, since Kirby could use his additional jumps to escape. In fact, the man in green contributed the most to the high damage points on the mercenary leader and the racer. They knew why—while he'd forgiven them for the cocky way they used to act, he'd never be able to forget what they did.

But I digress.

After time was called and the number of K.O.'s and falls were tallied, Falcon was declared the winner, with Luigi coming in second, Kirby placing third and Fox last. The foursome smiled and shook hands before preparing for their next matches.

Following that pulse-pounding free-for-all was an equally pulse-pounding one-on-one against Cloud Strife. Despite being armed with the Buster Sword, the ex-SOLDIER was unable to charge his Limit Break. Luigi was always there to attack him before he could. Cloud tried to use his neutral B to space him out, only to wind up in a grab before he knew it. Toward the end, however, the ex-SOLDIER was able to rally and even land a Final Smash. Eventually, a Sudden Death left Luigi with the victory.

"Wow," breathed Cloud. "You're amazing."

"Thanks," said Luigi. "How are things with you and Reflet?"

"Never better," replied Cloud, his hand absentmindedly patting a small box-shaped bulge in his pocket. "I can't believe we've been together for a year."

Luigi's keen eyes also spotted the telltale outline of a box in Cloud's pocket. "Good luck," he said softly, patting the blonde on the shoulder.

As Cloud took his leave, Luigi glanced at his watch. It was almost time to see Dr. Mario.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"How are you feeling today, Luigi?" asked Dr. Mario.

"New," smiled Luigi. "I mean, ever since I started talking to you, I've slept better, breathed easier—functioned better."

"And what about the psychiatrist I referred you to, Dr. Park? Is she helping?"

"Greatly," replied Luigi. "I'm glad you referred me to her. She's not like those other shrinks. She actually tries to see my situation through my perspective. Dr. Park—is the best of the best of the best."

"You're right," murmured Dr. Mario. "She is."

"When Master Hand announced the stricter anti-harassment measures, I nearly hugged him," Luigi went on. "I also noticed that he's a bigger administrative presence on Miiverse. And the 'see something, say something' policy from last year is a wonderful deterrent."

"But do you still lie in bed at night and—think about things?"

Luigi sighed. "Sometimes. I still can't believe the harassment was so high up, so close. I mean, the assistant master of ceremonies? The chief financier? All along, they were both out to get me? I still feel angry and betrayed. That's why I joined a support group, started doing more arts and crafts, and took up piano lessons. I also dance."

"Dancing is powerful release," said Dr. Mario. "More powerful than art."

"I've always loved to dance. It—helps me say things that I can't verbalize."

"I commend you for channeling your leftover feelings through creative means, rather than destructive ones," nodded Dr. Mario.

"I still pound Sandbags," confessed Luigi, "but not at night when people are trying to sleep. I dim the lights, brew myself some tea and do some art. I usually drowse off after a few hours."

"I have a thought-provoking question," said Dr. Mario.

"Shoot away."

"Why is vengeance so attractive to you?"

Luigi clucked his tongue. "For a long time, I felt so helpless. I couldn't tell on them, or they'd come after everyone I ever loved. And I knew that Master Hand was aware of what was happening—I'd catch him after stumbling away from a beatdown—and he just—gave them all the benefit of the doubt. After putting up with it for so long, the end of my year was the last straw. I wanted them all to feel my pain. So, I made them feel my pain. And I'm still not sorry."

"You forgave Fox and Falcon, though."

"They were genuinely sorry. The rest were sorry they got caught."

"I see," said Dr. Mario, just as a tiny alarm went off.

Luigi rose to leave. "Same time tomorrow?" he asked.

"I'll be here," nodded Dr. Mario.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Early in the afternoon, Luigi sat in the cafeteria, eating a Calzone. He'd just come from a decisive clash with Pikachu. Halfway through, the electric mouse had summoned an Assist Trophy—and it just _had_ to be Waluigi! The purple-clothed man was apoplectic over his rumored romantic rival trouncing him in a tennis match at the tail end of 2016 and was more than happy to do his thing with the tennis racket and the stomping. But it was afterward when things got crazy. Waluigi tossed in a few kicks and snide remarks, and then lurked at the stage for the remainder of the match, spitting reproaches at Luigi. The man in green ignored him as best as he could, but Pikachu could tell by his foe's facial expression and increasing aggression that Waluigi was starting to get to him. Ultimately, security ushered Waluigi out, and Luigi won over the electric mouse.

As Luigi took another bite out of his Calzone, Pikachu scampered up to him, closely followed by Kirby.

"Pika," said Pikachu.

"Hi, Pikachu," said Luigi.

Pikachu looked down. "Pika, pika, pika, pi, pika," he said.

"It wasn't your fault," Luigi assured him. "Besides, I'm used to his antics."

Pikachu seemed relieved. "Pika, pi, pi, pika, pi."

"You gave Waluigi a piece of your mind? Thanks, Pikachu," gushed Luigi. "But really, it was nothing."

"Poyo," Kirby growled angrily.

Luigi shook his head. "He's not worth it," he said. "Like I said, I can handle him."

Kirby smiled. "Poy," he said quietly before he and Pikachu went over to their own table.

Luigi finished the last of his Calzone and went to take on the rest of the day.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

A long, hard tussle with a heavyweight like DK was just what Luigi needed to get his mind off Waluigi's little stunt. It also helped him organize his thoughts before his meeting with Dr. Park. He was scheduled to meet with her immediately after his bout with the King of the Jungle, though he made a pit stop to freshen up.

Dr. Kristy Park's office was located in a snug alcove of the Smash Mansion. The walls were painted a calming lavender color and were adorned with paintings of various landscapes. Two comfortable sofas sat across from each other, separated by a coffee table. There were many amenities available to the doctor and her patients, including assorted snack foods and a Keurig coffee maker accompanied by a selection of coffees, teas and hot chocolate. As with any office, there was also a desk with several drawers, where the good doctor kept her files and notes, and a sleek desktop computer.

The Smashers had an excellent psychiatrist in Dr. Kristy Park. She was a lovely, strong-willed woman in her early forties with reddish-brown hair and cinnamon brown eyes. There were close to twenty years of experience under her belt, including a two-year residency in which she received high accolades for her sensitivity and winning attitude. Dr. Park hailed from Phoenix, Arizona and decided to enter the medical field in her teens when she watched a video lecture presented by Dr. Mario. She met him in person during her years in junior college, and impressed by her knowledge and commitment, he agreed to mentor her through undergrad school, medical school and beyond. Once she completed her residency, Dr. Mario invited her to practice in the Mushroom Kingdom, but she politely declined, choosing instead to practice in troubled and impoverished communities across the continental United States. Initially a youth counselor, Dr. Park began to provide therapy for couples, families and eventually the general public, eventually settling down in Washington, D.C. Last year, a phone call from her old mentor, Dr. Mario, brought her from her Washington, D.C. clinic to the Smash World, where she took on Luigi as a patient. In terms of her personal life, she was twice-divorced and had no children.

Presently, Dr. Park escorted Luigi into her office. He sat on one of the sofas while she fixed them both a mug of tea.

"It's good to see you, Luigi," said Dr. Park as she sat on her own sofa, placing the mugs on the coffee table between them.

"Likewise, Dr. Park," Luigi said warmly.

"So," Dr. Park said, getting down to business, "since this is our first meeting of the New Year, let's talk about starting fresh. What are you doing to accomplish that?"

"Well," began Luigi, "I'm trying not to be bothered so much by what others say or do to me. And when people talk about me behind my back, I try not to let it get to me."

"Is it working?"

"Yes."

"Are you once again trying not to hold grudges?"

"I am. I mean, I still feel this rage and betrayal, and it wells up sometimes. But I'm handling it and using it to create, rather than to destroy. I talk about it with my support group. I express it via art and dance. I'm learning the piano. I brew myself some tea before going to bed at night."

"You mentioned at our first session that you do breathing exercises during a match. Have you tried them outside of a match?"

"Yes, I have. Sometimes, it works, and sometimes, it doesn't."

"When didn't it work? When you found out about the Ballot and your nerf?"

"Exactly. I was so furious…"

"Have you considered anger management?"

Luigi shook his head. "It has nothing to do with an anger problem. I mean, I don't suffer from any outbursts. It's just—I'm fixated on revenge, I guess."

"Why vengeance?" asked Dr. Park. "Why not forgiveness?"

"I try to forgive, with mixed results. A few of them understand what my forgiveness meant, and work to change their ways and re-establish their friendship with me. But most—think that my forgiveness is a ticket home free. They abuse my forgiveness until there's none left for me to grant. And—it was ignored for most of my life. That was why I took matters into my own hands."

"I hear that Master Hand is toughening his stance," said Dr. Park. "Will that make you less likely to resort to such drastic measures?"

"Absolutely," affirmed Luigi. "I have faith in Master Hand and in his new policies. And I think I'm gonna try to forgive again."

"I'm sure others in your support group feel the same way," offered Dr. Park.

"Are you talking about the anger and helplessness? All of them do."

"What about the desire for vengeance?"

Luigi shrugged. "A few."

"Have they acted on it?"

"Some of them were bullied during their childhood. And when a school bully hit them, they tended to hit back. Harder. Faster. One of them talked about his freshman year in high school, and how some stuck-up senior tried to shove him against a locker." Luigi smiled. "That bully wound up seeing the school nurse. Arm broken in three places, dislocated shoulder, temporary partial blindness in one eye. Of course, the freshman got in trouble, even though he was defending himself. To this day, he believes that getting a two-day suspension from school and losing his Game Boy for a month was unfair. It was the senior who should've been punished."

"Do you agree?" Dr. Park was now jotting down notes.

"Of course, I do," Luigi said without a beat. "You try telling them to stop, and then you try ignoring them, but ooh, these wicked people just persist. Do you remember when I told you about that Mitchell kid, when Mario and I were in fourth grade?"

Dr. Park nodded. "You overheard Mitchell making a racial slur at your brother. You were defending him."

Luigi nodded. "Although I was enduring the worst of it, I'd never let anyone try that on my bro."

"Does anyone in your support group—believe their bullies deserve to die?"

Luigi thought it over. "I don't know if they actually mean it," he said finally. "Some—do. My story wasn't as shocking to them as I thought it would be. There was this one lady who said her tormentors should be killed because they killed her on the inside. A life for a life, if you will. But I can tell you for a fact that a good portion of them exacted poetic justice against their bullies, or were at least tempted to."

"Does talking about it help them?"

"Definitely. Each time I meet with them, I see the light returning to their eyes. A couple either contemplated or attempted suicide before joining the group. I'm so happy to bring new meaning to their lives. I feel—I feel like I rescued them the way Mario and I rescue Peach—like they rescued me."

"But who's doing the rescuing?"

"We all are. We're rescuing each other, and then giving each other little smoochie-smoochies on the nose, saying 'Thank you very much for rescuing me'. And then little hearts come bursting out of us."

"That's an interesting comparison," noted Dr. Park.

"The best part is that new people are constantly joining," said Luigi. "People from all walks of life who need rescuing—people who just need an ear and a shoulder to lean on. In return, they find the strength to provide an ear and a shoulder to lean on for others. It just feels good."

Dr. Park smiled brightly. "I'm amazed at your progress, Luigi," she said. "I'm happy you've actively searched for creative pursuits like art, dance and music. But do you still like to hit Sandbags?"

"I hit Sandbags and spar with friends," replied Luigi. "I just try to avoid doing it at night."

"You know—I think this might be the year when everything falls back into place," said Dr. Park.

"I think so, too. Because when Waluigi gave me some trouble this morning, it barely bothered me at all."

"Way to go, Luigi," said Dr. Park. "I'm happy Dr. Mario sent me your way."

"Ditto."

They spent the rest of the session talking about brand new starts and sipping tea. When it was time to leave, Luigi made his appointment for next week, wished his psychiatrist a belated happy New Year, and departed the office in exceptionally good spirits.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Luigi felt better than ever after his conversation with Dr. Park. He breezed through his final bouts of the day, winning some and losing some. After the last match, he jumped into a refreshing shower, changed into fresh clothes and took a brief nap before it was time for dinner.

"Going to see Daisy tonight?" asked Falcon.

"Maybe," replied Luigi. "She's doing better, last I checked. I think she's come to terms with the Ballot."

"Have you?" asked Ness.

"A long time ago," Luigi assured him, "but can we get off that subject. I promised my psychiatrist to start fresh, and I intend to keep it."

"We intend to help you," said Ryu.

"I'd like that," Luigi said quietly.

"It's what friends do," Fox said softly.

A Mii helper passed by their table. "Will you be needing anything else?" he asked politely.

"No," answered Luigi with a smile. "I have everything I need at the moment."

And he did. He really did. A table full of friends. A lovely lady waiting for him in Sarasaland. Two people of medicine committed to his well-being. And best of all—peace of mind.

…for now.

 **Please read and review. Here's to a swell 2017!**


	2. Along Came a Salesman

**Along Came a Salesman**

 **TW: Talk of bullying and suicide**

 _ **Three weeks later…**_

"Good afternoon, and thank you all for coming."

Luigi sat in the Smashville Community Center, second floor, the location of his support group meetings. Around him were men, women and children who'd been down the same or similar roads. They sat in comfortable ottomans, arranged in a circle. On a table in the middle of the circle sat a platter of croissant sandwiches, and next to it was a platter of assorted mini-cakes. There was also plenty of tea, cider or hot chocolate to go around.

The room was bedecked with motivational posters and artwork done by the participants. That's right—the support group did more than just sitting around talking. Dr. Emily Thorpe, the coordinator, encouraged them to express themselves nonverbally. She'd bring paper and paints for the participants to use. Sometimes, she'd bring clay and pottery supplies, molds to make sculptures, or stationery. Then, she'd invite them to interpret their works of art or literature. She'd even bring musical instruments and jam with a few participants. Finally, she'd extend on this by encouraging the participants to work together on their artwork. Dr. Thorpe was proud of her results, which she happily shared with her colleagues, including Dr. Mario and Dr. Park.

Presently, Dr. Thorpe stood and addressed the participants. "It means so much to me that you're continuing to reach out to one another, even though you feel like you're in a sound place. We will open the session by going around the circle and having each of you talk about your situation, and then we can build from there. Luigi, would you like to start?"

Luigi gave a small wave to the people he'd come to know as his friends. "Hello," he said. "It's-a me, Luigi."

"Hello, Luigi," chorused the group.

"I used to be bullied pretty badly," said Luigi. "It was physical, verbal, emotional, psychological—so many fronts. Nobody cared about my exploits until my year. It was short, but it gave me the strength I needed to stand up to them all. After the frenzy surrounding my Death Stare, I decided to show my bullies that I meant business. I went on what one might call 'a roaring rampage of revenge'. I roared—and I rampaged—and I got bloody satisfaction. I'm sure you all felt the urge to do what I did. And when they went after the woman I loved, I lost it for a bit. It was only after the authorities started paying attention that I was able to pull myself back together and find closure. And I think I'm starting this new year on a high note. I even forgave my tormentors after they were sentenced to jail or house arrest. Forgiveness is a fresh start, you know."

The group applauded.

"You once said that you've tried to forgive before?" asked Dr. Thorpe.

"I did," sighed Luigi, "with mixed results."

"When did forgiveness work?" asked Dr. Thorpe.

"I can name two occasions. The first was years ago, in the nineties. Two of the original Smashers used to give me a hard time. They pulled pranks on me, heckled me in the stands, defamed me on the blog we used to have, talked down to me, turned their noses up at me and tied my shoelaces together—I abandoned lace-ups because of them. One of them even said I was 'the last place loser', 'the bottom of the food chain' and called me a name! I was so mad…" He clenched his fists, wrangling his emotions. Then, a smile broke out on his face. "I'll never forget the night I taught one of them a lesson. We were both drinking, but he imbibed more. I wasn't even drunk. It was the night he called me those names, and he threw the first punch. Even after that throwdown, he was after me. Even after I trounced the Hell out of them in subsequent matches against them, they were still after me. Until I defeated one of them by doing absolutely nothing and the other threw a little hissy fit in the middle of a bout. By and by, they came to their senses, but I wasn't about to let them off so easily. One of them even relapsed during Melee. It was slow going, but they eventually re-earned my trust."

"And the second occasion?"

"It will be two years ago, come June. A newcomer talked trash about me behind my back, minutes prior to a one-on-one between us. I was his first opponent in Smash. It wasn't much, really. We battled it out, and he lost big. I guess I proved him wrong, because he came to my room with some street food and apologized. Even though I forgave him, my subsequent interactions with him were guarded for a while. It would flare up while engaged in battle with him. Same as with the previous two. I forgave—but I can't forget."

Dr. Thorpe gestured around the circle. "Your friends feel the same way," she intoned, "but the memories will be less painful if you forgive."

"I know."

"Thank you for sharing, Luigi," said Dr. Thorpe.

The next person spoke up. "Hi. My name is Giuliana, but you can call me Giulia."

"Hello, Giulia."

"Like Luigi, I'm Italian-American and the youngest of two girls. We were both bullied for our heritage—and also because we had two fathers. We were born via surrogate."

"I see," said Dr. Thorpe.

"This discrimination followed me as I sought a career in law enforcement. But I still graduated from the police academy, and until recently, I served with the Las Vegas Police Department. Now, I serve and protect the Smash World." She chuckled. "Well, most citizens of the Smash World can protect themselves. No offense."

"None taken," said Luigi.

"But that's not why I joined this support group," said Giulia. "The bullies back off me once I got my badge. But my sister—she wasn't so lucky. She was such a wonderful sis, defending me despite being bullied herself. And so, I defended her. Fiercely. Because despite being the older sister, they went after her more than they went after me. Envy, I guess. She was captain of the women's volleyball team. She was nominated for class president. She threw herself into extracurricular activities. She volunteered to help little kids. And she was no weakling. Our dads had a nice little gym set up for us, and we worked out seven days a week. One day, in the cafeteria, one of the mean girls tried to pull her hair and wound up sitting in her meatloaf. She was so strong—or at least, I thought she was."

Giulia dropped her eyes as she continued. "It followed her from elementary school to high school and to college. She was so excited to go to UC Berkeley. She thought she'd escaped from the bullying. But she didn't. The Internet—it could be so productive and so dangerous. Vicious rumors were spread about her. She was told she was ugly. And—she tried putting on a brave face, but—I could see it in her eyes. I should've been there for her…" Her voice began to crack.

"It wasn't your fault," Dr. Thorpe said softly.

"Why not? I left her exposed to that mess while traipsing off to a police academy!"

"Why did you want to become a police officer?" asked Dr. Thorpe. "To protect people like your sister, right?"

"Yes," said Giulia, slightly surprised.

"So, why are you blaming yourself?"

"Because—I was too late—to save her…"

Luigi paled. "You don't mean…"

"Yes," choked Giulia. "She started pushing me away, pushing our dads away and pushing her friends away. She dropped out of college. She gave up being a journalist. If only I'd pushed her harder, she would've relented and let me come in." She produced a photograph for the group to pass around. "Here's a picture of her."

"She's very beautiful," murmured Luigi as he stared at the photo. "What's her name?"

"Isabella, or Bella for short. She wouldn't let anyone see that she was hurting, but I knew nonetheless. I visited her on campus once, and I had a hunch who was doing this to her. I should've confronted them."

"You would've lost your temper, and the academy would've expelled you," Dr. Thorpe said quietly. "Plus, you had no proof."

"I know. She told me she couldn't name the culprits for fear of her safety—and of mine. And I joined this group hoping to find others who wanted to help loved ones who shut them out."

"You're not alone, Giulia," Luigi assured her.

"I used to shut people out in middle school, but remember that Bella put her own suffering aside to help me. It felt so good to be around her that I let her in. But what perplexes me is why she didn't return the favor. I could've helped her the way she helped me."

"I have a brother who tends to blame himself if something adverse befalls me," said Luigi. "I feel your pain."

"Thanks, Luigi. I guess that by college, the bullying had grown so severe…" Giulia wiped at her eyes. "She called me one day, sounding—defeated. Saying—things that brought the hair rising on the back of my neck. Apologizing for not being stronger, thanking me for being there for her and asking me not to hate her for taking the easy way out. She told me that the cyberbullying had gotten worse after she dropped out, and that she couldn't take it anymore. She said—goodbye. And then she hung up. I tore out of there in my lounge wear and slippers, not even putting on a bra. I called friends and family and dispatched a police car to check on her. After she dropped out, she moved to Vegas to be closer to me. I sprinted over to her place faster than I ever sprinted in my life. But when I got there—it was too late…"

Luigi put a hand on her shoulder.

"I was the one—to find her body—in a pool of blood. I was the one to find the razor in her hand. I was the one to pronounce her dead at the scene. She—she'd cut her stomach before slashing her wrists. I had to emotionally detach myself when the police arrived. Then, my two dads got there, and that's—when it felt real. My captain took me off the case and placed me on paid leave for eight weeks. It was the toughest period of my life. When I returned to the job, I vowed to help the other Bellas out there, to let them know that someone was hearing their silent cries."

"Did you ever think about revenge?" asked Dr. Thorpe.

"More times than I can count. My captain was pretty iffy when I took Luigi's case last year. I was fighting the urge to take out Spike Plaxwell myself and save L the trouble. I'm glad I didn't interrogate him, or else I would've been suspended for excessive force. Even today, I fantasize hunting down the dogs who drove my big sis to take her own life. But thanks to you guys, I'll never act on them."

Applause.

"Thank you for opening up to us, Giulia," said Dr. Thorpe. "Who would like to go next?"

The conversation progressed around the circle as the group shared stories of being bullied, losing a friend or loved one to bullying or defending someone against bullies, and the various ways they coped with it. They also discussed their current states of mind and how well their coping mechanisms were working. Dr. Thorpe took notes here and there, posing questions at the right time. Finally, everyone in the group had a turn, and it was time to move on to the next activity of the session.

"I'd like to start off 2017 with some positive energy," said Dr. Thorpe. But before she could give her instructions, there was a soft knock on the door.

"Who is it?" asked Dr. Thorpe.

A Villager walked in, escorting a well-dressed man in his mid-forties. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything," said the Villager.

"Not at all," said Dr. Thorpe. "New faces are always welcome."

The Villager nodded and walked out, leaving the newcomer searching the faces before him. His hazel eyes eventually settled on Luigi's blue ones. For some reason, he felt himself pulled toward the man in green, though he couldn't fathom why.

Dr. Thorpe addressed the man. "Would you like to join us and introduce yourself?"

The man nodded, pulled up a chair and made himself comfortable next to Luigi.

"Afternoon," he said. "My name is Grant."

"Hello, Grant."

"I make my living as a flashlight salesman," Grant went on. "It's a steady job, and it pays the bills. I have a wife, four kids and a border collie. But—my life has been anything but easy."

He took a deep breath. "When I was a kid, I was raised by a single mother. The other kids tended to laugh at me about it. They said my dad was running around. Well, what did they know? My mom always said that my dad was an honest man, but the relationship didn't work. And—he loved me and still loved my mom, even though they were divorced. I'd stay with him over the weekend. He paid child support and divided his paycheck with my mom every month. But these bullies were vicious. And—a rumor came to life that I had 'a deadbeat dad'."

Luigi stared and listened, fascinated.

"They gave me swirlies every Friday. They'd heckle my old man on Career Day. My dad was an engineer, and a darn good one, at that. But they'd rub it in about how he threw me and my mom under the bus for a younger woman. They'd whisper that perhaps he was fathering other babies all over the place. It weighed heavily on both my parents. They went to the Principal, but rudimentary measures were taken. 'It'll pass', they all said. Boy, do they have an egg on their faces.

"My dad wasn't the single dad who made up for his absence by showering me with gifts and taking me to amusement parks. He played a role in my educational advancement, lectured me for bad grades and rewarded me for good ones. I talked to both of my parents about what I wanted to be when I grew up. They both helped me with my college application. My dad was far from a deadbeat chasing after younger women. Separation was a decision my parents didn't come to lightly."

"I'm sorry to hear about that, Grant," said Dr. Thorpe.

"Don't be. I muddled through that crap to a successful career selling flashlights. I've always loved hardware, you know. But…"

"The bullying continues?" asked Dr. Thorpe.

"Yes. Even after school, they'll never have enough of me. They brag about inheriting multi-million dollar companies or becoming doctors or newscasters or authors or whatever while laughing about my 'lame' job. And I'm not safe there, either. My growths stunted a little bit when I was in my late teens, so I'm the shortest employee there. I have supervisors making a big show of their authority and pushover colleagues."

"So—you have no friends there?" asked Luigi.

"I have a few friends, but they never really stood up for me. They always chickened out. But then I met my wife, my savior. God sent her to me in my darkest hour. Her name's Leni, and we've been married for twenty-three years. Now, I have a family to keep me from falling apart."

"And now you have us," said Luigi.

"Right you are, Luigi," said Dr. Thorpe. "Grant, we're happy to have you aboard. Don't hesitate to make yourself at home."

"I intend to," said Grant, sneaking a look at Luigi.

Dr. Thorpe rose and set up easels for the group, placing two small easels together to form one big easel. "I'd like to ask everyone to find a partner," she said. "You'll spend the next half-hour or so painting together and feeding off of each other's positive energy. Then, we'll regroup and talk about our paintings."

Instantly, Grant sought out Luigi, getting his paint and materials ready.

"Hey," greeted Grant.

"Hey," replied Luigi. "Want to pair up?"

"Why not?" asked Grant, sitting beside the plumber.

Luigi offered his hand. "Nice to meet you, Grant," he said.

Grant shook the gloved hand. "You, too. You're—Luigi, right?"

"I am." Luigi dipped his brush into the paint and began to apply it to the canvas.

"I—saw you sitting there, and…" Grant cleared his throat. "I felt—a connection."

Luigi turned and smiled at him. "So did I."

Grant was lost in those eyes for a drawn-out moment as Luigi's hand manipulated the brush in graceful swoops and strokes. "Let's be friends," he finally said.

"Best friends," Luigi warmly agreed.

 **Is my pace too fast? Too slow? Just right? Talk to me.**

 **Please review.**


	3. Not So Different

**Not So Different**

 **Sometimes in our lives we all have pain  
We all have sorrow  
But if we are wise  
We know that there's always tomorrow **

**Lean on me, when you're not strong  
And I'll be your friend  
I'll help you carry on  
For it won't be long  
'Till I'm gonna need  
Somebody to lean on **

**Please swallow your pride  
If I have faith you need to borrow  
For no one can fill those of your needs  
That you won't let show **

**You just call on me brother, when you need a hand  
We all need somebody to lean on  
I just might have a problem that you'll understand  
We all need somebody to lean on **

**Lean on me, when you're not strong  
And I'll be your friend  
I'll help you carry on  
For it won't be long  
'Till I'm gonna need  
Somebody to lean on **

**You just call on me brother, when you need a hand  
We all need somebody to lean on  
I just might have a problem that you'll understand  
We all need somebody to lean on **

**If there is a load you have to bear  
That you can't carry  
I'm right up the road,  
I'll share your load **

**If you just call me (call me)  
If you need a friend (call me) call me uh huh(call me) if you need a friend (call me)  
If you ever need a friend (call me)  
Call me (call me) call me (call me) call me  
(Call me) call me (call me) if you need a friend  
(Call me) call me (call me) call me (call me) call me (call me) call me (call me)**

 **-Bill Withers, "Call Me"**

The next day…

"I have some interesting news," said Luigi.

"What's that?" asked Master Hand.

"I made a new friend yesterday. His name's Grant."

"Where did you meet him?"

"At my support group," beamed Luigi. "He sells flashlights, and he's been bullied from childhood. A little bit like me."

"Now aren't you glad you joined that group?" asked MH.

"I sure am. We do more than just talk. Arts and crafts, pottery, music and dance—Dr. Thorpe is very proactive."

"What about the others in your group?"

"Giulia's an old friend, and she helped me bring down Spike and the others. But when I looked at Grant—it was like magic. Like we were cut from the same cloth."

"It seems that you have some similarities in your situations," observed Master Hand.

"But his own friends leave him to the wolves. Only his wife was brave enough to fend them off."

"Now, he has you," Master Hand said wisely, "and you have him. By the way, don't worry about Waluigi. He's been suspended for his misconduct that day."

"Good to know. But I've already forgotten about that."

"I can't help but notice that both Dr. Mario and Dr. Park are helping you. What do you say to them—working jointly on the case? Like—instead of seeing one and then the other, you see them both in the same appointment?"

Luigi nodded his approval. "It saves me a lot of time."

"I just spoke to them on the matter," said Master Hand. "Your first joint session with them is this afternoon. I think you should unwind with them before the most strenuous of your matches."

"I'll find a way to slot it into my schedule," promised Luigi.

"On the whole, I'm happy you're doing well," said Master Hand. "That civil suit really helped, didn't it?"

"It did." Luigi's eyes twinkled. "I'll catch you later, Master Hand."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

As Dr. Park prepared for her session with Luigi, someone knocked on her door.

"May I come in?" asked Dr. Mario.

"Sure." The shrink rose and allowed her colleague to enter. "How are you doing?"

"I'm doing well. You?"

"A little nervous," confessed Dr. Park.

"Why?" asked Dr. Mario.

"I've never done a joint session before," said Dr. Park. "At least, not with another physician present. I've done sessions when parents or friends accompany the patient, but this—is kinda new to me."

"Me, too," Dr. Mario quietly admitted.

"You're nervous, too?" guessed Dr. Park. "You've done this for ages!"

"I've never taken on a case like Luigi's. It's very unique."

"I know," said Dr. Park, "but we're helping him."

"When Luigi saw me after his—mission—I knew I had to call you," said Dr. Mario. "You're good at your craft, Kristy. I've kept in touch with you after your residency, read every article you wrote in those medical journals. Somehow, I knew you could still the storm in Luigi's heart. Your sensitivity and big heart is—admirable."

Dr. Park blushed. "I learned from the best, Doc," she said quietly. "I'm honored to work alongside you in this case. But—are you sure it won't be problematic?"

"I don't think so," frowned Dr. Mario. "Why?"

"I'm no bimbo, Doc," Dr. Park told him firmly. "This is bringing back memories for you."

Dr. Mario was stunned that his mentee could read him so well. "Yes. It is. How…?"

"I would know my own mentor," said Dr. Park. "The fact that you stood strong through it only increased my respect for you."

"I would've crumbled, if not for Luigi," said Dr. Mario. "Throughout the mockery, harassment, crank calls and denunciation as a Mario clone, he was there for me." He straightened his tie. "Now, I'm going to be there for him, but I need your help. Can I count on you, Kristy?"

Dr. Park nodded. "One hundred percent." She offered her hand to Dr. Mario, which he shook.

Then, she looked at her watch. "It's about time to call him over."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"Before we begin, do you have any reservations over this arrangement?" asked Dr. Mario.

"Not at all," replied Luigi.

"Anything noteworthy since our last meeting?" asked Dr. Park.

"A new guy came to my support group," Luigi sang out.

"Sounds like you really like him," said Dr. Park.

"I do. One look, and I knew that we were going to get along. I'm a plumber, and he's a flashlight salesman. We were both bullied since God-knows-when, but we had people to keep us from losing it."

"What's his name?" asked Dr. Mario.

"Grant. We painted some pictures together, and we exchanged phone numbers before we left."

"What else about him made him stand out?" Dr. Park wanted to know.

"The fact that he was so ready to open up, and when Dr. Thorpe paired us up, he immediately sought me out. We were like two little boys, confiding our secrets to each other as we painted."

"L," said Dr. Mario. "This is exactly what you need!"

"Really?"

"Yeah," Dr. Park joined in. "Someone you closely identify with, like Grant, will give you someone to vent to when times get rough, because he'll listen to you and truly understand. We're happy for you, L. Tell Grant hi for us, and if he needs more help, then we're just a phone call away."

She and Dr. Mario handed Luigi their business cards so he could give them to Grant.

"Now," said Dr. Mario. "What else is on your mind?"

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

As Luigi headed for the showers after his last match, a Mii in a Mario cap approached him. "Phone call for you," she announced.

Luigi took the proffered phone. "Hello?"

"It's good to hear your voice, L," said Grant.

"It's good to hear yours, too."

"You sound out of breath," said Grant. "What are you up to?"

"Kicking butt, Smash Bros style," replied Luigi. "Matches just finished for the day."

"Nobody—gave you any grief, did they?"

"Not really. Just the usual cocky stuff. So, how are you?"

"Resting up after a long day at work. Nothing like coming home to five open arms and a sloppy tongue. The reason why I'm calling is because I have a proposition for you."

"Yeah?"

"After you freshen up, how about you grab some friends and head on over? I'd love to introduce you to my folks."

"Perfect! I'll go talk to them," said Luigi. "Oh, and by the way, I have a dog of my own. I hope he gets along with yours. He's—a special dog, and you'll see why."

"I'm sure we can handle one more dog," said Grant. "I need to start making arrangements. See you later."

"Likewise, Grant." Luigi hung up, gave the phone back to the Mii and went to get ready.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

In a pleasant suburb not far from the Smash Mansion, Grant's abode was nicely lit up for his guests. With help from his family, the rooms were swept, freshened and vacuumed and messes were cleared away. Top 40 tunes played at medium volume from the stereo. Cocktail wieners, nachos, pizza, burgers, hot dogs, condiments and various deserts were set out for the guests to consume. Additional preparations were made for another dog. The family was dressed their best, and the kids were instructed to behave themselves.

Grant, in a shirt, vest and slacks, was at the door when Luigi arrived. He smiled at the sight of his new friend, clad in a tuxedo with a green bow tie. On his arm was Daisy, in a sleek, strapless dress. Accompanying them were Mario, Peach, Yoshi, Rosalina and Luma and Corrine, as the cosmic goddess's date.

"Welcome to _mi casa_ ," said Grant as he let them in.

"Thanks, Grant," said Luigi as he took in the place. "Wow, this is nice."

"We don't want to entertain people in a messy house, right?" winked Grant. "I'm glad some of your friends could make it."

He turned to Daisy, offering his hand. "You must be the Princess of Sarasaland," he said. "It's an honor."

"Thank you," said Daisy as Grant kissed her hand.

"And here's the iconic Mario," said Grant, greeting the red-capped hero with a handshake.

"Hello," smiled Mario.

"It looks like your Princess is in another castle," quipped Grant, kissing Peach's hand.

"Nice to meet you, Grant," said Peach.

The salesman turned to Rosalina. "The Queen of the Cosmos," he said.

"Indeed," said Rosalina, "and this is my girlfriend, Corrine."

"I can turn into a dragon," Corrine put in.

Grant's eyes swung down on the ghost dog on the red leash. "Ah. Here's your dog."

Luigi gathered his pet in his arms. "He's a ghost dog," he explained. "His name's Polterpup."

Polterpup peered curiously at Grant, who offered a hand for him to sniff. Seconds later, Polterpup pounced on the man, licking his face.

"I guess he likes you," laughed Luigi.

Polterpup calmed down and returned to his master. Luigi kissed the supernatural pooch and set him back down.

The rest of Grant's family filed into the room. A loud, joyful bark echoed in the air.

"Welcome," greeted Leni, wearing a retro A-line dress. "It's good to meet you all."

The guests shook Leni's hand, and then the four kids lined up to introduce themselves.

"I'm Nora," said the eldest.

"I'm Alex," said the second-eldest.

"I'm Daniel, but you can call me Dan or Danny," said the second-youngest.

"I'm Shelia," said the youngest.

"And this is our border collie, Spirit," said Leni as the dog bounded forward. "Don't worry—he's tame."

Spirit and Polterpup sized each other up and bumped noses. Then, the ghost dog gave the border collie a tiny lick, breaking the ice.

"I knew they'd get along," Grant sighed wistfully.

The family gave their guests a quick tour of the house, and then they all sat down to dinner, where the four kids pelted the guests with rapid-fire questions.

"One at a time, kids," said Grant.

"Is the Smash tournament run by a floating hand?" asked Alex.

"Yes," said Luigi. "His name's Master Hand."

"I've seen a few of your matches," Nora said shyly. "I think you're cool."

"Thanks, Nora," said Luigi.

"I just beat New Super Luigi U," boasted Danny. "I'm gonna play it again and again until I drop!"

"Daniel," sighed Leni.

"Sorry, Mom. I just like this game so much!"

"What about the other games your dad and I bought you?"

"They're cool, I guess. Hey, L—I have a few Mario Party games and Mario Kart 8. I like playing as you, so I can do absolutely nothing or glare at people." Dan laughed.

"Everybody loves my Death Stare," said Luigi. "If you don't mind my asking, do you have any Luigi's Mansion games?"

Dan grinned, showing a gap in his two front teeth. "I have both games. We should totally do _Dark Moon_ 's multiplayer sometime!"

"He always wins," murmured Shelia.

"Hey," said Grant in a warning tone.

"Don't worry, Sis," smiled Dan. "You'll get the hang of it someday."

"I play a lot of Smash and Super Mario Maker," said Nora. "I designed some crazy courses. I have the IDs for them if you're interested."

"That's very nice of you, Nora," said Leni.

"I main Ness and Captain Falcon," Alex put in. "Wanna 1v1 on FG?"

"You're on," said Luigi.

"May I ask Princess Daisy a question?" Nora piped up.

"Sure," said Daisy.

"How long has Luigi been your special friend?"

"For a long, long, long, long time," Daisy said softly, "and I haven't tired of him yet."

"When I grow up, I'm gonna ask Nintendo to make a game about you," vowed Shelia.

Daisy blushed. "That means the world to me," she said, "but I'm waiting for news on the Nintendo Switch."

"I'm sorry you didn't win the Ballot, Princess," said Dan.

"Thanks," said Daisy, "but I've moved on from it."

"We hope you make the next Smash roster, though," said Nora.

"Me, too," mused Daisy.

"How did you get into the advertising business, Grant?" asked Peach.

"As the son of an engineer, I was interested in hardware," replied Grant, "so I figured, why not make hardware interesting for others? I decided to sell flashlights because they were the handiest tools out there. Thanks to me, flashlight sales have skyrocketed. Now, if only those supervisors would see fit to promote me."

"Have you done any infomercials?" asked Daisy.

"Tune in to HGTV early in the mornings," said Grant. "You'll find many of my infomercials there.

"Advertising in an art, you see," he said to his other guests. "Anyone can say how great a product is. But the trick to selling a product is to believe in that product."

"Good advice," said Mario. "I mean, L and I rely on tools to do our job, but we won't buy them from manufacturers who do a lackluster job of selling them. How will we know if they function properly?"

"Exactly," smiled Grant.

"The same thing goes for clothing," added Luigi. "Imagine that I need some brand-new work boots or overalls. If I see a bland ad for either of them, then I won't give it much attention as compared to a detailed ad explaining why I should spend my money on them."

"You are spot on, my man," said Grant.

"Hey, Grant," said Rosalina. "Would you like to come to my Observatory one of these days?"

"Can we, Mom and Dad?" the children asked in unison.

"Maybe over spring break," said Leni.

"Yay!" cheered the kids.

"The Lumas are so cute!" squealed Shelia.

"Aren't they?" agreed Rosalina.

"Miss Corrine, could you please turn into a dragon for us?" asked Alex.

"I can't," Corrine replied with a sad smile. "At least, not indoors. But maybe you can watch me in action at one of my matches."

"Okay," Alex said brightly.

"I'd like to propose a toast," said Grant.

The table fell silent.

Grant raised his glass. "To Luigi, another breath of fresh air in my tumultuous life. May our friendship be a long and prosperous one."

"Cheers," said Luigi, also raising his glass.

Everyone else clinked their glasses together and then continued their meal, chatting about this and that. Once everyone had their fill and the food was put away, Grant turned up the stereo and put on some party tunes.

"Who wants to have a real party?" he asked.

 **Welcome to my house  
Baby take control now  
We can't even slow down  
We don't have to go out  
Welcome to my house  
Play that music too loud  
Show me what you do now  
We don't have to go out  
Welcome to my house  
Welcome to my house**

 **-Flo Rida, "My House"**

 **Please read and review.**


	4. Interlude: Bein' Friends

**Bein' Friends**

 **When you are happy  
With laughter to spare  
Fun is twice as fun  
With someone to share  
When you are lonely  
And full of despair  
Things aren't half as had  
When somebody cares**

 **Maybe now you have figured it out  
That's what bein' a friend is about**

 **When you're lookin'  
For a shoulder you can cry on (Won't you think about me?)  
When you're lookin'  
For someone you can rely on (Don't you ever doubt me)**

 **I'll be there, some way, somehow  
That's what bein' friends is about.**

 **-Catherine Warwick, "Bein' Friends"**

 _ **Luigi's POV**_

 **Joining that support group is the best thing that's ever happened to me. Because if I hadn't, then I wouldn't have met Grant. The second he walked in, my attention was riveted on him, and his on me. Then, he started to talk, and his situation seemed so—parallel—to mine. He's come from a rough, unconventional life, and continues to be made fun of because of it. Not only that, he's picked on because of his job. Selling flashlights is far from "lame". I don't know about you, but I intend to write a very strongly-worded letter to Grant's tormentors about the way they're treating him.**

 **I look at him, and he doesn't have to tell me. He's nursed thoughts of revenge, of poetic justice, just like me. Whether or not he's acted on them, I'll never know. Maybe that's why I'm so drawn to him. I want to talk him down from taking matters into his own hands. It seems right at first, but it will drag us down into a sinkhole. Vengeance will corrupt us and turn us into something ugly. At least, that's what I'm trying to make myself believe.**

 **From the day we met, when we sat together at that easel, projecting our emotions onto the blank canvas and later talking about our paintings with the other participants, Grant and I are inseparable. We exchange phone calls and connect on Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, Facebook, Google+, Miiverse and LinkedIn. Three weeks into our friendship, Grant invites me to bring a few friends over to meet him and his family, and I accept.**

 **How will I ever forget the party at Grant's place? He really knows how to throw it down! Over a hearty dinner, we all share stories of our lives, the good and the bad. Nora, Alex, Dan and Shelia, Grant's offspring, are morbidly curious and never seem to run out of questions. I'm honored to introduce the family to some of the pivotal people in my life—Daisy, Mario, Yoshi, Peach, Rosalina and Luma and Corrine. And I'm happy to see that after the crap he's been put through, Grant is the perfect family man, refusing to drag his brood into the mire of his personal issues.**

 **I just can't believe how cowardly his friends are, though, leaving him at the mercy of those bullies. If Mario ever notices someone ganging up on me, he'll tell them to get lost. Peach got herself suspended for me last year. And nobody dares to mess with me when they see Daisy on my arm; it's good to have a tomboy for a girlfriend. Yoshi, Rosalina and Luma and the Smashers I've befriended over the years—they'll always rally to my defense. But Grant's friends—they just abandoned him. All except his wife, Leni. If she hadn't come into his life, I probably wouldn't have met him.**

 **I know how it feels to have so-called "friends" forsake me. It's like a white-hot knife stabbing into me. Finding out that DDD posted a video of himself whacking me with his hammer seven years after he saved my life. Ike Griel, the Radiant Hero, submitting to peer pressure and ostracizing me. Shulk, pretending to like me before humiliating me during a match. Marth and Roy, and Mewtwo and Kuro, smiling in my face while fooling around on the website dedicated to hating me. Falco, throwing a hissy-fit over my down throw and going behind my back to nerf it. But Grant's "friends" committed a worse crime—turning their backs on him when he needed them the most. During subsequent meetings, he angrily vents about this. He hasn't even spoken to them since he started his career, and who can blame him? Once, I tell him that if they didn't have his back, then they weren't truly his friends. My counsel helps, for day by day, he starts to let go of those false friends. Getting him to forgive them is the next step, but I don't think he's ready yet.**

 **A month or so after meeting Grant's family, I bring him along to the Smash Mansion to meet Master Hand. Grant is slightly intimidated by the glove's presence, but I observe that he doesn't let it show as he tells the Hand of Creation about his life and his work. Master Hand then introduces Grant to his father, Master Core. Grant's heard about MC's abilities, so he's more apprehensive around him. But MC doesn't bite. He's just as impressed as Master Hand with the new friend I've made.**

 **After meeting the remaining heads of the Smash tournament, I lead Grant on a tour of the Smash Mansion. I show him the Training Areas, the lounges and the cafeteria. The main lobby and the bulletin board where the day's matches and other announcements are tacked up. The Stadium where we hold Home Run Contests and Target Smash events. The Smash Run Area. The various stages. The ice-cream parlor. The movie theater.**

 **Along the way, I take Grant to meet the other Smashers. First up is Evan and Mandy, so he can congratulate them on their impending parenthood. Then, I introduce him to Valentine "Val" O'Halloran and his fiancée, Evelyn Fisk, who helped me bring down the network of bullies, along with a Boy Scout and Pikachu main, Paul. After that, I introduce him to Ness, Jigglypuff and Captain Falcon, and we explain how the Formidable Four came to be. One by one, Grant makes the acquaintance of the characters who shaped my tenure in this tournament, and he's a big hit with them, by the way. He decides to spend the day here and watch some Smash battles, and I can't be happier because he's going to see me in action!**

 **On the battlefield, I see him, sitting next to Mario and Peach, staring goggle-eyed. He reminds me of Evan when he first saw me kicking butt. I'm sure Grant has heard of my prowess, but I guess he needs to see it to believe it! He whoops and shouts, even louder than Mario, and is eventually asked to quiet down a bit. During my matches that day, an intense feeling circulates within me. A feeling that my path was intended to collide with Grant's. A feeling that Grant was shaped from my rib while I slept one night. Imagine what the two of us can accomplish together. Imagine what we can** _ **create**_ **—**

 **When Grant's not spectating matches, he's burning calories in the Wii Fit Trainers' classes or showing off his art skills to envious Smashers. Dr. Mario must've seen him, because he stops me when we cross paths and tells me to bring him along to my next appointment. I pass this along to Grant, who agrees to make room in his schedule.**

 **At nightfall, it's time for Grant to return home. He has a big day tomorrow. After dinner in the cafeteria, we hug and part ways with the reassurance that we'll meet up again. A smile is still on my face as I head off to bed.**

 **After what seemed like forever, things have finally fallen back into place.**

 **You've got a friend in me  
You've got a friend in me  
When the road looks rough ahead  
And you're miles and miles  
From your nice warm bed  
You just remember what your old pal said  
Boy, you've got a friend in me  
Yeah, you've got a friend in me**

 **You've got a friend in me  
You've got a friend in me  
You've got troubles, and I've got 'em too  
There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you  
We stick together and can see it through  
'Cause you've got a friend in me  
You've got a friend in me**

 **Some other folks might be  
A little bit smarter than I am  
Bigger and stronger too, maybe  
But none of them will ever love you  
The way I do, it's me and you, boy  
And as the years go by  
Our friendship will never die  
You're gonna see it's our destiny  
You've got a friend in me  
You've got a friend in me  
You've got a friend in me**

 **-Randy Newman**

 **Please R &R.**


	5. Old Habits

**Old Habits**

 **TW: Graphic violence and talk of implied suicide toward the end**

 _ **Nine weeks later…**_

"Yesterday, I did something I never thought I'd do," Grant said as he and Luigi sat at their support group meeting. "I called one of my old friends. We had drinks at a bar."

"What made you reach out to this friend?" asked Dr. Thorpe.

"Luigi," replied Grant. "He told me that friends who don't stand up for each other aren't friends at all. So, I met up with this old friend and told him that I was done stewing over his inaction back in the day. Essentially, I told him off—and I intend to tell off the rest of my friends." He tossed his head. "I'm moving on."

"Wise decision," nodded Dr. Thorpe. "I'd like to commend Luigi for the advice he's offered to you, Grant. You two have clicked from day one. Keep up the good work."

"I spoke from experience," Luigi spoke up. "Friends turned on me throughout my life. And for trivial things."

"Some friends they turned out to be," muttered Giulia.

Murmurs of assent.

"Let's all follow Grant's example and move on," cautioned Dr. Thorpe. "We are all friends here. We have each other's backs." She signaled to some Miis and Villagers, who wheeled in a piano.

"I apologize for my interjection," Giulia said humbly.

"Yeah, Doc," chimed in a participant named Eric. "It just—gets to us sometimes."

"No apology necessary. I understand," said Dr. Thorpe. "However, after tackling an intense subject like betrayal, a little decompression is in order." Her helpers brought in some more musical instruments. "Who would like to go first?"

Smiling, Luigi rose and crossed the room to the piano. He sat down on the stool, ran his fingers over the keys, and closed his eyes, willing his emotions to float to the surface.

And then he began to play, a dark and haunting melody which echoed not only his feelings but the feelings of the other participants. He evoked memories of backstabbers past, drew upon how they pulled the rug out from under him and why. The betrayals were still fresh, jettisoning from his mind and onto the ebony and ivory keys. It felt so wonderful. Eyes still closed, the building melted away, and it was just him and the piano and the memories to purge.

Grant's eyes were also closed, his body swaying with the tune his new friend played. Each chord and note was saturated with pain over "friends" leaving him to face his own problems alone. He remembered the conversation he had with one such "friend" last night. He'd really given the guy a piece of his mind, the liquor he'd consumed making the talk better. Despite the slight inebriation, Grant had spoken calmly and clearly, making it clear that he was climbing out of this funk once and for all. And after he'd made his case, he'd paid his bar tab, walked away and never looked back.

The melody gradually lightened, and Grant sensed that Luigi was dumping his burden of memories the way the salesman dumped his. Tears slid down his face as the plumber's song plucked at his heartstrings. The other participants were crying, as well, even Dr. Thorpe and her helpers. Sitting there, hammering at the keys, Luigi's face was stained with silent, stormy tears. But he played on and on, a crushing hold easing up on his chest. And on the final, poignant note, he let out a slow, quiet breath, allowing the world to come back, opening his eyes and surveying the people around him.

"I think I feel much better now," he said, a little shakily.

He stood up and returned to his place beside Grant.

"You're incredible," Grant finally said. "What's your secret?"

"Constant practice," replied Luigi.

"Let me have a shot at that," Grant told Dr. Thorpe.

He sat down at the piano and launched hard into a famous classical piece he remembered from his days in elementary school. Upbeat and fierce. Gershwin. People hummed in response to this oldie-but-goodie. Luigi reclined in his seat and allowed Grant's piano skills to take his mind away, at least temporarily.

"You want to know why I picked this song?" asked Grant as his fingers danced along the keys.

"Why?" asked Dr. Thorpe.

"Because I've never felt happier than I feel at this moment," smiled Grant.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"My…" breathed Dr. Mario as he moved the ultrasound wand over Mandy's belly.

"Is something wrong?" asked Mandy.

"Birth defect?" Evan added warily.

"No, no," Dr. Mario assured them. "It appears—that you're having twins."

"No way," breathed Evan as he stole a look at the monitor.

"Wow," murmured Mandy. "Two little Vidads."

Dr. Mario nodded. "Heartbeats are strong and they're developing normally. I'll be able to tell you the gender of your twins soon. Congratulations."

"Thanks, Doc," said Evan as the couple stared intently at their twins developing in Mandy's womb.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"Twins?" asked Luigi.

Evan nodded, tears in his eyes. "God has blessed us twofold."

"Boys, girls or both?" Luigi wanted to know.

"Still too early to tell," replied Mandy. "Looks like we have extra baby-proofing to do. Say, could you bring Grant over this weekend to help us?"

"Sure," nodded Luigi. "He's been through the wringer before, and he'll have plenty of tips."

"Hey, L," said Evan.

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay with me moving out a few weeks ago?" asked Evan. "I know that I gave short notice."

"Look, I understand," Luigi said quietly. "You're about to be a family, and you and Mandy and your _bambini_ need as much room as you can get. I'm not upset, if that's what you're asking."

"Are you actively searching for another roommate?" asked Mandy.

"Not yet," said Luigi, "but I'm open to the possibility. When a door closes, another one is bound to open."

"That's a good way to think," smiled Evan.

"Congratulations, you guys," Luigi said softly. "You earned it."

"We're gonna start planning the christening now," Evan told him, "and—we're looking for godparents."

"I'd be honored to be your twins' godfather," Luigi said with a blush, "and I'll talk to Daisy about being a godmother."

"One door closes, and another door opens," murmured Mandy.

Luigi nodded, and the parents-to-be saw in his eyes that he was thinking about more than just being a godfather.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 _ **The next week…**_

"I—there's something I forgot to mention last week," Grant said, his head bowed.

"What is it?" asked Dr. Thorpe.

"During the meeting with my so-called 'friend'—he got hostile," sighed Grant. "I was just calmly making my case when he started jumping on me, throwing accusations at me. Like _I_ was the weak one. Please, forgive me, but I—lost it."

Gasps arose.

"I decked him, and he swung back. That was when something really snapped. Punches flew everywhere between us." Grant smiled a little. "When the bouncers came, we just slipped out back and continued. We brawled for about twenty minutes. Then, we cooled off, went to a diner and exchanged apologies. The guy said he understood, wished me well, paid for the meal and left."

"Thank you for your honesty," said Dr. Thorpe.

Luigi, however, was intrigued. So, Grant had a bit of a dark side, didn't he? The plumber sensed that his new friend was concealing something else from the group, though he couldn't fathom what.

"Just be thankful I'm off duty, or I would've placed you under arrest for assault," Giulia piped up. Off of Grant's nervous look, she added, "That was a joke."

"Remember what I said about forgiveness, Grant," said Luigi.

"I'm trying as hard as I can, L," Grant said to him. "I really am."

"Me, too," replied Luigi.

"Let's give Grant a round of applause for his brave confession," said Dr. Thorpe, and the group clapped.

"Dr. Thorpe," said Giulia. "Why don't we further support Grant by making confessions of our own?"

"Excellent idea, Giulia. We'll go around the circle, and anyone who'd like to confess may do so."

"I'll start," offered Giulia. "One time, we were working a case involving a teenage boy. He'd been attacked at a Chuck-E-Cheese's. Eventually, we linked the assault to bullying." She sighed heavily. "The kid's name was Greg. He reminded me so much of my sister. Witnesses pinpointed two suspects, frequently seen harassing him. DNA from the crime scene matched that of the suspects and let us to several more. The nail in the coffin came when Greg identified them. We went to bust them, and…"

"They provoked you, didn't they?" asked Dr. Thorpe.

"Well, the arrest went off without a hitch, save for some resistance from the slimebags," explained Giulia. "I was used to perps fleeing or taking a few swings at arresting officers. But during questioning, they were remorseless. They said he deserved it and talked some mess about 'a dog-eats-dog' world. They called him 'a waste of a human being' and a whole bunch of other stuff, and that's when I started thinking of Bella. I fell right into their trap. If my partner hadn't been there…" She cleared her throat. "My captain reprimanded me and suspended me, with pay, for a week. I accepted the consequences of my actions, saw the department's psychiatrist, and I haven't used excessive force on a perp since."

Applause.

"Huh. That actually felt good," said Giulia.

Eric spoke up next. "Someone once locked me in a bathroom," he said. "I used to be claustrophobic in those days. By the time the janitor freed me, I was close to a mental breakdown. I nursed the anger for days."

"What did you do?" asked Dr. Thorpe.

"I ducked that guy's head in a diarrhea-filled toilet," Eric said, a bit proudly. "Won me a day in detention. And I make my living fair-and-square and sleep well each night, and I'm still not sorry I did it."

"I'm still not sorry for what I did, either," said Luigi.

"I'm sorry for what I put my squad through, but I'm not sorry for getting rough with the perp," said Giulia.

"When I slugged my 'friend', I set a bad example for my kids," said Grant, "and that's the only thing I regret about it."

"Aggression is the easiest choice," said Dr. Thorpe. "It's a typical first response to a situation. But there's an alternative to approaching a confrontation—assertion."

"I began with assertion," said Grant, "but he responded with aggression."

"He wanted you to sock him," said Dr. Thorpe.

"I've asserted myself in each Smash battle I fought," said Luigi. "When someone called me a name in public, I was asserting myself. I was standing up to him."

Murmurs all around.

"I have a homework assignment for you," said Dr. Thorpe. "I'd like you all to write one page about how you could've used assertion instead of aggression, and how that could've kept the situation from escalating."

"By one page," Giulia piped up, "do you mean both sides of the paper?"

"One side will do. But two will be even better."

From Giulia's smile, Dr. Thorpe could see a dissertation taking shape in the policewoman's mind.

After everyone had taken their turn confessing whatever they withheld from previous meetings, Dr. Thorpe concluded the session with tempura painting. As they were finishing up, Grant slipped a note to Luigi.

 _Meet me outside the Smash Mansion tonight_ , it read. _I'll let you in on another secret_.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"I'm going for a night out with Grant," Luigi said to Master Hand after he finished his dinner. "Is—that okay?"

Master Hand nodded. "Be back by 6a.m. tomorrow," he said.

"Of course. Thanks," beamed Luigi.

He notified Mario, Peach and his other friends of his plans before placing a phone call to Grant. "We're good," was all he said.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

The night was young. Clubs were hopping. Fluorescent lights lit up the scene. People were out to blow off some steam and cut loose after a rough day. The weather was perfect—cool, but not too cold. A three-quarter moon was flanked by twinkling stars, innocently gazing down on the world below.

A man in a polo shirt and jeans walked briskly down the illuminated sidewalk, a small smirk on his lips. The night was treating him well so far. After shooting pool for a bit at a local bar, he met up with his buddies at an arcade. They'd played a few arcade games before chowing down on hot wings and talking about their days in high school, in which a worm with a deadbeat dad named Grant was their favorite toy. Oh, they'd trailed him like bloodhounds through the years, unearthing his social media profiles and reminding him that they'd always be in his life, no matter where he went. They'd made plans to visit him at his place of business for a little—catching up. An hour or so later, they split ways, and now the man was on his way to hit up some posh nightclubs.

"Excuse me, sir?"

The man turned. Standing there were two other guys. One was tall and clad in a green shirt, navy overalls and a green cap with an "L" on it. The other was attired in a dress shirt, blazer and slacks. Something about the latter banked deep into his memory, but he couldn't worry about that yet.

"May I help you?" asked the man.

The nicely-dressed man stepped forward. "My friend here is new to this part of town, and he's trying to find the light rail station," he explained.

"Happy to help," smiled the accosted one. "Follow me."

He led the pair toward the light rail terminal. "Which one are you trying to catch?" he asked.

"The ten-fifteen to your day of reckoning," growled the nicely-dressed man.

"Wait, what?"

An iron grip seized him from behind and dragged him into an empty lot.

"Is this a holdup? Look, I have no money!" snapped the man.

"It's not money we're after," the nicely-dressed man said calmly. "Don't you—recognize me?"

The man stared into his face. "Can't say I do."

"Oh? Then I bet you'll remember that I came from a broken home."

Suddenly, the man's face split into a wide grin. "No! Wait a minute! Wait a darned minute!" He gave the other man a friendly swat on the back. "Let me buy you and your companion a drink; we've got loads to talk about!"

"Actually, we don't have anything to talk about," Grant said evenly.

"Aww—come here to whine about how my friends and I 'victimized' you?" sneered the man. "Hashtag: nobody cares! I'm surprised you didn't bring your deadbeat dad with you, seeing how I raked him over the coals every Career Day!"

"My father is dead!" shouted Grant.

"What?" gasped Luigi, standing nearby.

"You may not know this, _Sid_ , but your antics put a strain on him!" Grant hotly went on. "Your diatribes and false portrayals made him ashamed to be my father! Toward the end—we drifted apart! My mom and I had to _prod_ him to attend my high school and college graduations! His calls to me became less frequent—he became a recluse! I told him not to listen to you, but you—you knew exactly where to get him! It happened a month before I joined a support group. My poor mother was _hysterical_ when she called me with the news!"

"Well, it's about time he croaked," chuckled Sid.

"Croaked?" barked Grant. "My dad had my old model train set delivered to me via first-class mail, with a note apologizing for not being the best father he could! He then sent my mom a bouquet of her favorite flowers and some home-baked snickerdoodles, asking her to remember the happier times in their relationship! He made phone calls to us both, and he wouldn't stop apologizing and begging for forgiveness! He told us—that he was finally escaping from your lies and distortions! Five minutes after he called—I got the panicked call from my mom! She said that after he finished speaking to her, she heard—a wet, muffled, _pop_. And even before the police notified me, I knew what had happened! And shortly after I buried my father, I had to bury my mother! The stress had brought on a fatal heart attack!"

"Grant," breathed Luigi. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell the support group—or Dr. Thorpe?"

"I wasn't ready," sniffled Grant.

"Too bad about your folks, Grant," Sid said flatly. "I would've loved to tell them one last time about what a failure your dad was. No matter, I'll just tell the congregation at their funeral!"

"You cold-hearted monster," spat Luigi.

"Stand back, L," Grant said, eerily calm. "I'll handle this."

And then he turned and punched Sid straight in the face.

"Grant!" yelled Luigi.

Sid stumbled, and Grant punched him again and again, eventually sending him sprawling to the floor. Grant quickly straddled him and continued to punch him as Sid struggled feebly. His jaws and cheekbones were broken, but still, Grant didn't stop. After one last punch, the flashlight salesman grabbed Sid by the hair and savagely slammed his beaten face into the concrete over and over, breaking his glasses and sending the shards deep into his eyes. He stood, kicked Sid onto his back and proceeded to repeatedly stomp on his stomach as Sid coughed and gurgled. Luigi was shouting at him, but Grant was past listening, consumed by a black rage. Finally, Sid was nothing more than a groaning pile of pulpy flesh, his glasses crushed deep into his eyes, his face shattered and his stomach nearly pulverized. Grant knelt beside him. "You have no idea how long I wanted to do that, Sid," he hissed in his ear.

"What in the Inferno are you doing?!" Luigi demanded of him, transfixed by the scene before him.

"What anyone in my position would do," Grant replied without a beat, pulling out a knife.

Luigi watched as Grant plunged the knife into Sid's battered belly, making deft, savage slices. And as bloody letters began to take shape, the initial shock wore off, and a sharp feeling of excitement swirled within him. Sid screamed like a banshee as his gut continued to be ripped open, and there was this _look_ on Grant's face which should've repulsed Luigi but instead made him so— _aroused_. Repressed fantasies began exploding to the surface, and he lost himself, in that empty lot, in Sid's pleading cries and in Grant's knife.

He should've talked Grant down. He should've called the police. The man had a family. And they both had a resolution to keep to. They should be trying to move past the pain, not in this abandoned lot, one of them gutting this man like a fish while the other watched gleefully. But sounds of Sid's screams and the knife tearing into his flesh—music to his ears. And the terror in Sid's eyes—a work of art.

Grant plucked out the knife, took heaving breaths to regain his composure, and stood back up. He smiled at Luigi and allowed him to see the message he carved into Sid.

 **I KILLED A MAN'S PARENTS.**

"Go to your friends," Grant told his downed tormentor, "and tell them what happened to you tonight. Tell them that 'the boy with the deadbeat dad' is all grown up." He drove some more kicks into him before stepping away.

Then, Luigi came forward, his face like stone, and delivered one last kick Sid would be feeling into Valentine's Day. Grant cleaned his knife, grabbed Luigi by the hand, and they darted out of there as fast as their legs could take them.

They slowed their pace after going a few blocks, and finally stopped, catching their breath.

Before Grant could say anything, Luigi dealt a hard noogie punch to his arm. "You maniac!" he exclaimed.

"I know, right?" laughed Grant. Suddenly serious, he added, "Look, I know we made a promise to Dr. Thorpe, but…"

He was cut off once again when Luigi furiously wrung him by the hand. "You are a Godsend, you know that?!"

"I—am?" Grant was purely puzzled.

"Finally!" whooped Luigi. "Someone who completely understands me! Someone who agrees with me!"

"Are you talking about…?"

"Yes! _That's_ the kind of justice I'm talking about! An eye for an eye! A tooth for a tooth!" Luigi hugged Grant. "I knew we were destined to meet! I just knew it!"

He released Grant, who looked deep into his eyes. "This—never happened. Right?"

Luigi held out a pinkie. "Scout's honor," he promised.

They locked pinkies. In that charged instant, they both had the same wild and crazy idea.

Hand in hand, Luigi and Grant walked down the street, the nightlife pulsing around them. As far as they were concerned, the rules could go to Hell. From this moment on, they were at war, and God help any bully who crossed their path tonight—

 **The action heats up! More to come.**


	6. Lead Us Into Temptation

**Lead Us Into Temptation**

 **TW: Graphic violence and torture!**

* * *

 **As the sun lets up already for the evening**  
 **And you know that we should put on our evil ways**  
 **'Cause the line outside is forming for confession**  
 **Either way**

 **Either way that you walk**  
 **Through the words that you talk at a gentle pace**  
 **It's the color I swear that's getting compared**  
 **To a better day**  
 **And as the sun rolls up**  
 **We will never belong to this bitter age**  
 **Oh, tonight we are**  
 **Tonight we are,**  
 **Someone else**

 **Now it's four in the morning**  
 **And you know that we should purge**  
 **All out evil ways.**  
 **'Cause tonight we've found ourselves a new obsession**  
 **Either way**

 **Either way that you walk through the**  
 **Teeth that you talk in a gentle pace**  
 **It's the color I swear that's**  
 **Getting compared to a better day**  
 **And as the sun rolls on (home?)**  
 **We will never belong to this bitter age**  
 **Oh, tonight we are, tonight we are**

 **Tearing it apart, but you could change**  
 **Your way, and they wouldn't want you to**  
 **Have we come way too far**  
 **To stretch out this point of view?**

 **Now our time is running out**  
 **As night turns into day**  
 **Our time is running out**  
 **As night turns into day…**

 **-New Roman Times, "VCR"**

By the time Luigi and Grant parted ways in the early hours of the morning, they'd made their commitment, and they weren't turning back. After Grant took care of Sid, the duo became hunters in the night. The salesman revealed to his new best friend that he'd kept tabs on his old tormentors, who were stupid enough to put sensitive information on their social media profiles. He'd also kept a list, safely tucked inside his wallet, and as soon as Luigi saw that list, that was it. They were now partners in crime.

Luigi hadn't completely turned his back on this life, despite what he told Dr. Mario, Dr. Park and Dr. Thorpe. He simply conceded that it was the wrong life to lead. Which made leading it all the more exciting. Grant, the family man and the flashlight salesman, had a dark side mirroring Luigi's. The mustachioed man in green was no longer alone in this fight. He'd spent his life hoping and praying that someone out there would understand why he chose the path of revenge. Finally, his prayer was answered.

They were dark crusaders, dark knights, that night. They roamed the city like Batman and Robin, identifying Sid's buddies with Grant's quick eye and pouncing upon them before they knew what was coming. Dragging them away from prying eyes and reading out the charges against them before moving on to the fun part. Sometimes, Grant would do the honors while Luigi watched. Or, Luigi would do the honors while Grant watched. Or, they'd take turns doing the honors. Grant had his fists, but Luigi had his, and they hit harder and faster, and he could generate fire or electricity in them, as well. There was a variety of handy tools in the inside pockets of Grant's blazer, which he proudly showed off to Luigi. Knives of varying lengths and girths. Mace. Tasers. Lye. Flashlights of his own. Coupled with Luigi's vivid imagination, these tools of the trade brought new meanings to the word "retribution". They left each wrongdoer battered, broken, bloodied and sometimes naked with objects inside them. But they didn't kill them. Yet.

Finally, the night was over, and their work had come to an end. Grant and Luigi hugged goodbye and went their separate ways with the understanding that they'd meet again the next night.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Luigi fell back into his routine in the Smash Mansion perfectly. It was as if last night's activities were part of a different life. A secret life. He simply told everyone that he and Grant had a harmless night on the town, and they thought nothing of it. The first thing he noticed that he wasn't as tightly wound as before last night. Maybe it was a good thing to let out the rest of the hate. These doctors and that glove were sitting around telling him what was right and what was wrong, and that placed tons of stress on him. Well, now he'd finally found the avenue for that stress, and these do-the-right-thing j—fs would be none the wiser!

With last night safely tucked away in his mind, Luigi concentrated hard on the day's matches. As always, old feelings tended to well up, especially when pitted against Falcon, Fox or Pikachu. But he handled them, soothed by the fact that they apologized and actively sought to reestablish trust between them.

But there was something new nagging him.

He had to agree that Evan's departure was quite sudden. When Evan and Mandy wed, Luigi knew it was coming, and Evan tried to ease the transition by keeping as much of his effects as he could in the old room until the move was official. Then, he gradually starting moving the rest of his things into the new room. However, at least two weeks' notice would've been nice. Evan was on paternity leave now, but he could still spar with his ex-roommate in the Training Room, and that was where tension began to well. Evan didn't spend the last night in their room. No final goodbye to seal anything. Just a note on a now-stripped bed, saying, _Thanks for the memories._ Luigi had wanted to shake Evan's hand one last time, to thank him for the times he had to defend him from Blaine and his posse. But the exit in the night gave the impression that—their living together meant little to Evan.

Evan, seeing it all in Luigi's eyes, felt _horrible_. He should've slept in Luigi's room one final night. Should've waited till he awakened to say a proper goodbye, that his new room was a few footsteps away. Rooming with the man in green was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He'd met famous people through Luigi. He'd found his own strength when he defended him against harassment. And Luigi had eventually saved _him_. If they hadn't met, then would Evan have opened that restaurant? Gotten married? Would he have still been figuring out what to do with his life? Leaving as he had made it look like he didn't care about the two years he'd spent as Luigi's roommate. But he _did_ care. And he'd have to broach the subject soon.

"L," said Evan after their latest heated and sweaty spar. "We need to talk."

"What about?" Luigi asked in a nonchalant tone.

"I think you know," said Evan. "Your fists tell me what your words hide."

"What's there to talk about?" shrugged Luigi. "I understand. You have a family now, and it's your job to provide for it."

"That was no excuse to move out without saying goodbye," said Evan. "Look, Luigi. I'm sorry about the way I left. I know I should've told you earlier."

"Yes. You should've."

"And the note I left was—subpar at best."

"Yes. It was."

"I couldn't have asked for a better roommate than you, Luigi," said Evan. "Living with you—was the adventure of a lifetime, and I should've expressed that before I left. It was just—I was so preoccupied with the baby that…"

"…you forgot about me," finished Luigi.

"No! I'd never forget about you, not after you saved me from—them. I was just—distracted, that's all. And for that, I apologize."

"I can't count out that you tried to prepare me," murmured Luigi, brushing some ringlets of hair from his sweat-sopped forehead. "You're not the first one to try—and fail—to prepare me for something."

Evan nodded. "1999. Mario saw that you were last on the tier list and warned you."

"He just said I was ranked low, not ranked last," Luigi said softly.

"A lie by omission," reasoned Evan, "but I didn't lie to you. I'd never lie to you about anything."

"You just carted a few boxes out of my room, and then cleaned out completely while I was asleep. Everything was gone when I woke up, even your bedsheets. The only thing you left me—was a measly note. With one sentence. 'Thanks for the memories'."

"But our arrangement meant more to me than that," said Evan.

"How about something more substantial on that letter?" Luigi wanted to know, his voice rising slightly. "How about an explanation of why you had to leave so soon?"

Evan looked at his feet. Luigi made a good point.

"I didn't want to wake you," he said finally. "You needed your sleep."

"But I didn't need to be left twisting in the wind," Luigi said calmly.

"If I hadn't decided to room with you, then I don't know what I would've done with my life," said Evan. "Thank you for giving me two fun-filled years. And if you want to visit, my new room isn't far from yours."

Luigi smiled and rolled his eyes. "You're just trying to butter me up."

"I'll make this up to you," vowed Evan. "Whatever it takes."

"You're off to a good start," Luigi told him. Evan had come forward and admitted his mistakes, and that was all the plumber needed. The abrupt departure still left a dull ache, but now Luigi was more confident that he'd move past it. Just like he'd moved past Mario's lie by omission. Just like he'd moved past Falcon and Fox's behavior. Just like he'd moved past his feud with Pikachu.

Still, he was gonna remind Evan of this when he returned to the battlefield.

The two ex-roommates turned up the music, took off their shirts and sparred until it was time to get ready for their next matches.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Luigi felt considerably better after Evan unburdened himself. He had no qualms over withholding the details of his activities with Grant from Dr. Mario and Dr. Park. And indeed, there were more pressing topics to pore over, such as the residual feelings of anger toward three Smashers who wronged him but were repentant. How could they exist, even after he forgave them?

"When do these feelings occur?" asked Dr. Park.

"Typically, during a standard Smash battle, where specifically stated restrictions are in effect," replied Luigi.

"It's still a pretty extreme situation," said Dr. Mario.

"Adrenaline, maybe?" offered Dr. Park. "What do you normally think about in the heat of a Smash battle?"

Luigi bit his lip. "It ranges from opponent to opponent," he explained. "My blood boils, and I just—think about things. Like—the constant need to prove myself. And, Dr. Mario, I mentioned to Dr. Park that one of the reasons why I joined Smash was for stress release."

"Are—these feelings keeping you from moving on?" asked Dr. Mario.

"No," replied Luigi, "because they only pop up sporadically. They don't keep me awake at night—at least, not anymore."

"Thank you for bringing this up, Luigi," said Dr. Park. "My colleague and I will discuss this further. And you may want to bring it before Dr. Thorpe at the support group."

"Will do," nodded Luigi. "See you next week."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"I can't put my finger on it," said Dr. Park as she and Dr. Mario reviewed their notes. "When Luigi's not in battle, he's fine. When he's pitted against the parties in question, he thinks about it. But from what I hear, Smash battles are fought per strict rules and sanctions. They're hardly extreme situations. Then again, I haven't fought in a Smash battle."

"Like Luigi said, lots of things run through his mind in a given battle," said Dr. Mario, "and for some Smashers, there are reputations to consider. Or, like you said, it could be adrenaline."

Dr. Park nodded. "I'm leaning more toward adrenaline than the situation," she said. "It affects the brain as well as a person's behavior. The 'fight-or-flight' response comes into play."

"But what does 'fight-or-flight' have to do with residual feelings?" asked Dr. Mario. "Unless those feelings and memories play a role in his mind choosing 'fight' over 'flight'."

"Doc," said Dr. Park. "Instead of looking at this as a doctor, why not look at it as a Smasher? Maybe you'll better understand."

Dr. Mario looked at his resourceful colleague.

"You've done the same thing, right?" asked Dr. Park.

"Of course. But I'm thinking about different things than L."

"They're still motivating you to beat the crap out of your opponent, as long as it doesn't conflict with the rules. Am I right?"

"Why am I sensing that we're not talking about Luigi anymore?"

"Doc, you said yourself that Luigi's case is bringing back some memories for you," said Dr. Park. "Be honest with me. Do you still think about what they did to you?"

Dr. Mario looked into his colleague's compassionate face. "Yes," he said finally.

"Specifically, during a Smash battle?"

"Yes. I look at them, and I remember how they laughed at me and called me a clone and booed and jeered and sneered. And it fills my heart with _hatred_. I know I swore an oath to do no harm, but I'm tempted to break that oath with those people."

"After fifteen years, you still think you have to prove yourself, like Luigi?"

"I don't know. I _do_ know that I was chafed when I wasn't invited to Brawl, and that my reception in 2014 was—somewhat cool. These people hadn't changed—they were the same as in Melee, picking on me for being a clone. It hurt and enraged me, and I let it show in my matches."

"Does it persist?"

"It's died down somewhat, mainly because they've grown bored of me. But as the announcer counts down on the battlefield, the _rage_ wells up, and my dark side comes out."

"Do you think Luigi experiences the same thing?"

"I know he does. I took on his case because I'm familiar with it."

"I see. I'll take this to Dr. Thorpe ASAP, and we'll see if she can slot it into the agenda for her support group."

"Hey, Kristy," said Dr. Mario as Dr. Park turned to leave.

"Yeah?"

"Maybe we can continue this discussion over coffee sometime," suggested Dr. Mario. "Perhaps this Saturday?"

"I'll be there," said Dr. Park after much thought.

"I'll tell you everything you need to know," promised Dr. Mario.

Dr. Park nodded. "Just between us colleagues."

Dr. Mario smiled, and then they turned their attention back to their notes.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Night came once again, and this time, the two dark knights made additional preparations. They'd set up a secret Batcave, if you will, completely soundproof. This Batcave was fashioned with gadgets and gizmos to "entertain" the "guests of honor", along with plenty of snacks for the two crusaders, maps, first aid, a CD player, laptops, magazines and books. The lighting consisted of the very flashlights Grant sold. It didn't take long to set up the Batcave, and when they were finished, they looked upon what they'd created and found it to their liking.

They sat at a bar Grant frequented, both nursing a Poppin' Purple Tanqueray. Priming themselves for the hunt.

"What did you tell your folks?" Luigi ventured to ask.

"The truth. That I wanted to spend time with you outside the support group, and that you're only free at night," smiled Grant. "Hey, I've seen some of my old tormentors going in and out of this bar. There's a chance we might get lucky tonight."

"How are we gonna get him to…?"

"Shh. The trick with Sid worked like a charm. We'll get them to drop their guard, and boom! They'll be in our Batcave before they know it."

Luigi smiled. "Buy them a drink," he said.

"Really?"

"Can't resist a little alcohol." He held up his Poppin' Purple Tanqueray. "I first had this drink in 1999, and it's been my go-to spirit since. It was created in the Smash Lounge, and I guess it's spread."

"What if they recognize me?" asked Grant.

"Follow my example," said Luigi. "Put on a disarming face. Make them think you've forgiven them."

"You've—really got this down to a science, haven't you?"

"You have no idea."

"Well, I'm a few steps ahead of you," said Grant. "I called a few of them and played nice. Invited them to catch up over drinks." He winked.

"How many?"

"Only one accepted the invitation," Grant told him. "Here he comes now."

They turned as a man entered the bar, looking around. Grant signaled to the man, guiding him to their table.

"Long time, no see," Grant said jovially.

"Tell me about it," laughed the guest, shaking Grant's hand. "How've you been?"

"Coping," replied Grant. "Listen, I'd like you to meet my new friend, Luigi."

"Hello," said Luigi, offering his hand.

"Good evening, Luigi," said the man. "My name's Clifford, but you can call me Cliff."

"Nice to meet you, Cliff."

"Likewise."

"Drinks are on me," said Grant.

"I'll take a whiskey on the rocks," Cliff said to the bartender. "What you guys got there?"

"Poppin' Purple Tanqueray, the best drink on the planet," said Luigi.

"Nah. I usually go for spirits like whiskey, Scotch, vodka, rum, wine…"

"I tend to sip some wine, too," said Luigi. "I'll buy you a glass if you want."

"Red or white?"

"Red. Definitely red."

A waiter placed Cliff's drink on the table.

"So—you're a salesman, eh?" asked Cliff.

"Uh-huh. Flashlights," Grant told him. "I've appeared on hundreds of infomercials."

"How are the bosses treating you?"

"Eh—patronizing as always," eyerolled Grant, "but hey, I bring home the bread and pay the bills. Can't complain too much. But let's talk about you, Cliff. I hear you're the head of a commodities brokerage firm."

"Yup, and living the high life," boasted Cliff. "Wearing designer suits, riding around in limos, having hired help doing the housework while I lounge around, going to parties and board meetings, the whole nine yards. Leading a company to prosperity while you sell pieces of hardware and take orders from supervisors. Looks like Lady Fortune has favored me, Grant."

"Yeah. Looks that way," Grant said with a tight smile.

"I heard about your parents," said Cliff. "I'm so sorry. Must be tragic, losing them both in a small time frame. You know, I just emerged from a family crisis myself. My uncle had a stroke and almost didn't make it."

Grant wanted to vomit. Was this another way of Cliff flaunting his "better fortune" in his face? The man barely reacted as he talked about Cliff's parents, yet he treated his own crisis—in which his uncle survived—like a big deal? While he was happy everything turned out okay, something told Grant that Cliff knew that he was partly responsible for what his father had been driven to do.

"I'm glad it turned out well for you," Grant told him.

Cliff nodded. "So. How about your friend? What's his story?"

"I'm a plumber," Luigi said simply. "I'm also a master of the Thunderhand, a ghost hunter, a participant of the Super Smash Bros tournament, a hero of the Mushroom Kingdom, a sportsman, a kart racer and a dreamboat."

"What's a dreamboat?" asked Cliff.

"By sleeping on special pillows, I can open up passage between the real world and the dream world," explained Luigi.

"Hm. Interesting. Where are you from?"

"Brooklyn. But I've lived in the MK for almost 32 years."

"Wow, Grant. You really know how to pick them," said Cliff.

"You don't seem interested," observed Luigi.

"I'm just trying to make sense of it," said Cliff. "You can help people access a dream world, play sports, race karts and still have time to fix toilets?"

"My bro and I got into the Mushroom Kingdom by crawling through a pipe. We used to work in the sewers. And before that, I was a mechanic."

"Wow," said Cliff. "I would've cracked under the pressure. Helming a firm is heavy duty enough."

"Maybe one of these days, we'll go check it out," offered Grant. "From what you're saying, it's going well."

Cliff said nothing, but Luigi and Grant saw the disdain in his eyes.

"Care if we—buy you another drink?" asked Luigi, breaking the tension.

"Ah. Sure, sure," said Cliff.

Grant turned to the bartender and ordered refills all around.

"How about we stop talking about the stress of our lives and cut loose, huh?" he said with a sly smile.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

The world spun around Cliff as he opened his eyes. A woozy, nauseous feeling swept over his body. His mind was blank. What time was it? Where was he? Why was it so dark in here? Why did it smell so—odd?

A blurry face above him slowly came into focus. Soft hands caressed his face. A voice, soft, European accent.

"Hello," said the voice. "We're happy you can join us."

"Wha?" murmured Cliff.

The face smiled. "Welcome to our place, Cliff. It's time to have a party."

"Par—ty?" The syllables were blurred.

The face was joined by another face, looking down on Cliff with anticipation. "You sure know how to knock them back," the new face said in admiration.

"G—Grant?" That meant the other face must be—

"Luigi? What's going on?"

"You'll see," Luigi said softly.

Suddenly panicked, Cliff tried to move, but he couldn't. He was on his back, strapped to a cot. The atmosphere turned menacing in a heartbeat as Luigi and Grant leaned closer to him. Bloodlust shone in Luigi's eyes. "Ready to get a little wild, Grant?" he asked.

"You bet I am, Luigi," hissed Grant. "After you."

"If this is a joke, then it isn't funny!" yelled Cliff, straining against his bonds.

"Oh, this is no joke," Luigi said darkly, "and it's certainly not funny."

The man in green ripped open Cliff's dress shirt and yanked it off his body, while Grant divested him of his pants.

"What the heck is this place?!" demanded Cliff.

"The Batcave," said Luigi, his hand skimming Cliff's bare torso. "We hope you enjoy your stay."

"Look, what is it that you want from me?" spat Cliff.

"For you to pay," said Grant.

"Pay? For what?"

"I think you know the answer," said Grant, wheeling a tray of tools beside the cot. "When you were gloating to us about how your life turned out better, you knew what you did. You knew you were responsible for what happened to my dad, and later my mom. Your relentless insults pushed my father to the edge, and took my poor mother right along with him! Did anyone not tell you that?"

"I heard through the grapevine that your mom had a bad heart…" said Cliff.

"A bad heart? You mean a heart attack after hearing my dad take his own life over the phone, and then having to identify his nearly headless body at the morgue? Did you and your buddies know when to stop? Did you?"

"Last I heard, telling the truth isn't a crime," Cliff said hotly.

"You think he didn't feel bad that his marriage to my mom didn't work out?" snapped Grant. "There was no need to remind him of it every Career Day!"

"Why not? It was fun!" Cliff blurted out.

" _What_?" gasped Grant.

"You heard me. It—was—fun. We relished in seeing the look in his eyes as we hammered home what a failure he was!"

Luigi's fists clenched at his sides. "You—sadistic—pig," he spluttered.

"Lu—I've got this," Grant reassured him. Turning back to Cliff, he accused, "You knew nothing about my father. You just assumed that because my parents were _divorced_ , my dad could care less about me."

"I'm done trying to convince you," snarled Cliff.

"You might as well have pulled that trigger," Grant went on. "You took him from me. He loved me!"

"No," said Cliff. "He despised you. You were an embarrassment to him. He proved that when he took the easy way out." He laughed. "Look at the prodigal son. You gonna cry?"

Grant swiftly crossed the room, snatched up a crowbar, and stormed back up to Cliff. He ran the crowbar up his body, searching for the right place to strike. The sick grin on Cliff's face transformed into a look of mortal terror as he realized what was about to happen to him.

"No, don't…!" But then Grant savagely jammed the end of the crowbar against the perfect spot on Cliff's torso before lifting it and bringing it down with as much force as possible. There was a great shattering sound, and Cliff screamed. His body jerked, his back arched, and his eyes rolled up in his head. Shifting his hold on the crowbar, Grant brought it down over and over, harder and harder, as Cliff coughed up blood, sometimes seeking out places he already hit to cause more agony. Horrible bruising developed on Cliff's body, yet Grant kept going, sweating and breathing in jerky heaves. The greater quantities of blood spouting out of Cliff's mouth, the more powerful Grant slammed at him, and if anything was broken or fractured, he targeted those areas the most. Luigi stood on Cliff's other side, drinking it in, eager to jump into the action. His eyes began to dilate, and he started sweating, as well. His heart pumped faster and faster, breath coming fast. This—the obliteration of bones and the blood and the screams and crowbar against flesh—was the perfect picture. Cliff's eyes as he realized that nobody was coming to save him. His friend's muscles working as he continued to hammer with the crowbar. The sights, sounds and smells made Luigi hungrier and hungrier. What was considered taboo to society was fine by him and Grant, the soothing ointment to the third degree burns that were the tortures inflicted on them. He needed this. Wanted this. More of this. Nobody would ever understand him—except Grant. He allowed his eyes to drift toward the tools laid out on the tray near Grant, and then back to the crowbar as it rose and fell. Adrenaline threatened to swamp him. He could hardly wait for his turn.

Once Grant was satisfied with what he'd done to Cliff's torso and trunk, he flicked the crowbar between Cliff's legs as the man tried to shrink away. Luigi quivered as the crowbar prodded at Cliff's package, through his briefs, imagining himself walking over, pulling off those briefs, and—

"Luigi," said Grant. "You're an expert at this, aren't you?"

"Yes," Luigi replied in a shaky voice.

"Would you like to tell Cliff what you did to that two-timing ex-financier whose name I won't mention?" smirked Grant. "Or would you rather show him?"

Luigi stepped forward, eased off Cliff's briefs and took the crowbar from his new friend. Cliff violently shook his head, but Luigi nodded "yes" and then drove the crowbar into the soft, sensitive flesh of his package. Cliff gasped as a grenade seemed to go off down there, but Luigi jabbed the crowbar into the lower extremities again and again and again. His face was flushed, his eyes were fierce, and he spat out reproaches under his breath. The crowbar was angled so that each blow would hit the most sensitive regions, possibly crush them beyond repair. Cliff roared and roared, which only increased Luigi's excitement and made him jam the crowbar even harder. Grant gently tilted Cliff's head up so that he could see what Luigi was doing to him, shocking him with a stun stick whenever he closed his eyes.

That was when they heard the begging.

"Stop—please—stop—no more…"

Cliff wailed and writhed as Luigi continued to dole out his severance package. Grant put his ear to Cliff's mouth. "I'm sorry; what was that?"

"Please—make him stop…"

"That's what I used to say to you and your buddies," snapped Grant, "and you said, 'Take it like a man'."

He nodded to Luigi, who slammed the crowbar down one last time and then twisted it.

"Do you remember that?" hissed Grant as Luigi kept twisting the crowbar. "'Take it like a man'?"

"They'd say that to me, too," Luigi put in as he finally removed the crowbar.

Together, the two avengers rolled Cliff onto his stomach. Grant produced four long, sharp, rusty nails, and Luigi used the crowbar to hammer them into Cliff's hands and feet. A butterfly added to their collection. Perfect.

Carefully, Luigi positioned the crowbar at Cliff's opening. "Watch and learn, Grant," he said before slamming it in with all his might.

Cliff screamed, music to Grant's ears. Luigi left little or nothing to the imagination as he brutally tore into Cliff with the crowbar, the motions causing the nails to dig further into Cliff's skin. Grant stood there, watching and giving encouragement, savoring the pain etched on his former tormentor's face and the tears and snot racing down. The same man who shamelessly took cracks as him for having divorced parents was currently appealing to him for mercy. But the salesman flashed to his mother's grief-stricken face and the—mess—that used to be his father on the medical examiner's slab, and later his mother in the hospital, fading away as her heart gave out on her. Cliff gave no thought to what would happen, and neither did his buddies. They didn't appear to be remorseful at all! So why should Grant be merciful?

Blood seeped out, yet Luigi was on a roll, thrusting the crowbar harder and harder, as deep as it could go, even adding in part of his fist. Seeking to cause as much damage as possible. Grant tunnel-visioned in on the rough, relentless motions of Luigi's arms and his hands as they gripped the crowbar, plunging it and pounding it, watching some blood splash out and bathe the white gloves.

"Whenever you were haranguing me, or haranguing my father, you were doing this to me," Grant said to Cliff. "You were violating my family and didn't even allow us the courtesy of lubrication. Is it not fitting that I do the same to you?"

"Why don't you do it yourself, you coward?!" Cliff shot back through clenched jaws.

"Because it seems to me that he knows more about retribution than me," replied Grant, "but don't worry. I haven't tired of you yet."

He yanked Cliff up by the hair, grabbed a can opener, and sliced it into as much of Cliff's upper body as he could, avoiding the heart and major arteries. Undisturbed by this, Luigi continued to pummel away at Cliff's insides, ripping and shredding. Cliff didn't know which pain to focus on anymore. He just wanted it to be over. Then, Grant released Cliff and dragged the can opener down both of his arms, and then his flank, not too shallow, but not too deep, either. Luigi increased his speed, injecting the last of his hidden tension, and Grant dropped the can opener, sat back on his haunches and watched. This man was certainly doing what he did best. It went on and on and on, and then Grant picked the can opener back up, moved over to Cliff's left thigh and sank the thing into his flesh. Cliff gave a piteous sound as the message "G&L" was carved into his thigh. He nearly passed out, but Grant made him eat one of Luigi's mushrooms to keep him from doing so.

Luigi pulled the crowbar away for the last time and dropped it beside Cliff, and then took the can opener and carved "L&G" into Cliff's right thigh. They yanked the nails out of Cliff's hands and feet and turned him back over, where Luigi used his fingers to aggravate the lacerations Grant had inflicted. As Luigi worked, Grant plugged in a tattoo machine and prepared a sterile needle. He turned in time to see Luigi running the stun stick down Cliff's body as it twitched erratically, and then using it to open the wounds even further.

"Thanks, L," said Grant once the tattoo machine was charged and ready to go, "but I'll take it from here."

"Okeydokey," nodded Luigi, getting off of Cliff and stepping away.

Grant took Luigi's place astride Cliff and held up the tattoo machine. "This will not be over quickly," he promised. "You will not enjoy this. Your days of living the high life are over!"

He turned the machine on and plunged the needle into Cliff's skin, causing him to wail.

Luigi peered over Grant's shoulder, grinning morbidly, as the latter branded the word "MURDERER" onto Cliff's chest.

"Now what?" he asked after Grant finished with the tattoo machine and powered it off.

"You know the drill," Grant said softly, indicating a power drill resting on a nearby bench.

Luigi's face lit up again. "Allow me," he said as he fetched the drill, turned it on to its maximum setting and brandished it at Cliff.

Seeing that drill, Cliff knew that there was no hope left for him. Luigi settled himself back onto the man and lowered the drill towards Cliff's face, inch-by-inch—

"MOMMY! MOMMY! HELP MEEEEE!"

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

It was still dark when Grant and Luigi emerged from their Batcave, the latter in a clean pair of gloves. The bars were emptying out, but the pulse of energy remained. Grant felt Luigi slip his arm through his. Cliff hadn't satisfied their hunger—it only increased it. Perhaps they could lure in one more before they called it a night. There were so many of those who made Grant's life Hell out there, and so little time! But wasn't that the beauty of it?

And so, Grant and Luigi continued their prowl through the vacating streets of Smashville. Best friends. Dark knights. Secret harbingers of justice. The night brought out everyone's darkest sides—and that went double for these two!

 **Sorry it took so long. School's starting back up.**

 **Please R &R.**


	7. Sucked In

**Sucked In**

 **Warning: Chapter contains smut, kink, bullying, bloody violence and questionable behavior.**

 _ **Five days later…**_

It played out like a scene in classic film noir. The beautiful, sleek and mysterious woman walked into Val's office, her dark hair in an action-girl ponytail, wearing a form-fitting coat, knee-high boots and Wayfarer sunglasses, her plump lips accentuated by the right amount of lipstick.

"Hello," she said, a touch of an accent to her voice. "Are you Valentine O'Halloran?"

"That's me," Val coolly replied.

"I heard you're the best freaking private eye in the Smash Realm," said the woman, just as coolly.

"So I've been told."

"Listen," the woman told him, whipping off her sunglasses to reveal a pair of stunning gray eyes. "We could use your help."

"'We' being who?"

She flashed her badge. "The Smashville Police Department." She then shrugged out of her coat, revealing an olive-green dress with long sleeves, and draped it over the chair before taking a seat. "We're in a bit of a pickle trying to solve a crime."

"Happy to help, officer," smiled Val.

"Please, call me Giulia."

"And you can call me Val. So, what about this crime?"

Giulia slid a file to Val. "Over the past few weeks or so, men have vanished without a trace, only to turn up burned, cut, chopped, broken or otherwise mutilated beyond recognition. They've refused to file a report with us, refused to go to the hospital, and said that they deserved it. And we've discovered that some of this torture took on a—sexual—nature."

Val smacked his lips. "Ah. They had their—packages—tampered with, eh?"

Giulia nodded. "Right now, we're looking at assault victims as suspects. Those traumatized so badly that they've grown to hate men. And what I want you to tell me is: are we looking in the right place?"

Val stroked his chin. "These men—do they have records?"

"No. Which further puzzles us. One of them has the word 'MURDERER' tattooed to his chest. Clifford Sloan—he turned up clean with no murder convictions. Another one, Sidney Matthews, has the message 'I KILLED A MAN'S PARENTS' carved into him. And all of them have the letters L and G carved or branded on them."

Val's ears perked up. "L? Did you say L?"

"Yes. Does that spark something?"

"Giulia—have you received any reports of harassment lately?"

Giulia shook her head. "No. Do you think the suspect has been harassed and is striking back?"

"Better—he has a history of being cruelly bullied," said Val. "Since figures of authority have done nothing to alleviate the problem, he's violently retaliated against the bullies."

"My," breathed Giulia. "I attend a support group for bullied people. I may have to be removed from the case."

"You were bullied yourself?"

"Yeah. Me and my sister. It was pretty bad."

"What if your sister did this?" Val asked slowly.

"My sister's dead," said Giulia, eyes flashing. "She couldn't take it anymore and—escaped."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Val said humbly. "Wait—if you're in a support group, then—the other members could be suspects."

"Two of them," said Giulia. "I think I know what the L and the G stand for."

"They attend the support group with you?"

Giulia nodded. "Luigi and Grant. The former is an old friend of mine."

"Hold on a second—I remember you!" cried Val. "You helped us put Spike Plaxwell and the Bennigan Brothers away!"

"Along with that troll of a financier," said Giulia, "and that traitorous, maniacal hand."

"It's good to see you again," smiled Val, "but for the time being, we don't have any proof that Luigi did any of this. Last I checked, he was doing fine. He put his tendencies toward vengeance behind him."

"Unless Grant drew him back in," postulated Giulia. "Could you look into him for me? I'm not supposed to give away what we discuss during the support group sessions."

Val nodded. "Of course."

"And if you find anything, here's my card," said Giulia, sliding it over, "and if I'm not available, you can reach my captain." She gave him her captain's contact information.

"Thank you. Solving mysteries is what I live for," said Val.

"And congratulations on your engagement," said Giulia. "When's the big day?"

"Probably sometime in March," answered Val. "Take it easy, and continue to serve and protect the citizens of Smashville."

"Likewise," said Giulia.

She stood, shook Val's hand, put her coat and sunglasses back on and headed out.

Val settled back at his desk and began perusing the file.

A fresh mug of coffee was set beside him, and he looked up to see Evelyn. "Who was she?" she asked.

"A police officer needs some help with an investigation," explained Val. "It's not a pretty one."

"I understand," said Evelyn, bending down and kissing her fiancé. "The wedding planner should be here in two hours. You ready?"

"Yup. I'm ready for anything," smiled Val.

"If I may," offered Evelyn. "A few days into Luigi meeting Grant, he's acted a little—off—lately. Like he's hiding something."

"Were you listening?"

She sat in his lap. "Kinda," she cooed, playing with his tie.

"I just don't wanna bother Luigi right now," sighed Val. "He's recovering from almost a lifetime of this crap, plus two grand conspiracies against him, plus a [ _bleep_ ]-ton of betrayals. The last thing I need is to treat him like a bad guy—especially without any evidence."

"True," said Evelyn, capturing Val's lips and rubbing his shoulders, and down his chest, and down his belly and about his waist, and—

"Shouldn't you keep your personal life and professional life separate?" Evelyn softly asked, kissing Val's neck. "It'll be much—simpler that way." Her deft fingers found his belt and began to slide it free. "Just think about our wedding—all of our friends and family there, my old man walking me down the aisle, tossing the bouquet, cutting the cake, driving off into the sunset…" The belt dropped to the floor. "Believe it or not, I used to dream about this. But now, it's real…" She gasped as Val's hand slipped under her lilac dress and ran across the seat of her panties.

"I didn't think this would happen, either," Val admitted in a low voice, "but I finally found you…"

Her fingers loosened and then undid his tie while his pulled her panties free. Both began panting as Val slid his fingers into his fiancée's wet, warm cavern and stroked sweetly. She grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him in for a sultry kiss, where they sucked and played with each other's tongues before Evelyn unbuttoned his shirt. He tucked her hair behind her ears, and then kissed all over her face, neck and upper chest, increasing the pace of his fingers until she breathed heavily and her skin pinked. His free hand wrestled with her bra beneath the dress until she slowly pulled it over her head and off, winding her hips to entice him. Then, she kicked off her shoes and wrapped her legs around the back of the chair, straddling both it and him. He shrugged his unbuttoned shirt off and peppered the freshly-exposed skin with sloppy kisses while helping her unclasp her bra. His pants unbuttoning and unzipping, falling to his ankles. Hands, fondling. Pants turning to grunts and moans. Val drank in his naked wife-to-be, her brow wrinkled in arousal as his hand and arm took on a life of its own, pumping relentlessly, her hair escaping its prison behind her ears, her breasts bouncing up and down. He leaned down and kissed them before they slid into his mouth.

"God," she said.

Val wrestled out of his shoes with his free hand and pulled his pants the rest of the way off. Focusing back on Evelyn, he tipped her back so that he could blow into her stomach, drawing deep sighs from her. His tongue played across her abdomen and round her navel, and then he kissed back up. He sat there, pumping, kissing and caressing her until she could barely take anymore, and just as her muscles were about to clench, he smiled and withdrew his hand.

"Let's get comfier," he said, grabbing a pair of fluffy, purple handcuffs from the drawer and carrying Evelyn upstairs, to a bedroom he'd fashioned in the event he had to work late.

Once she was laid out on the bed and secured to the bedpost, Val continued where he'd left off, this time using his tongue. He feasted on her ravenously, causing her to arch her back and gasp expletives. She shuddered delightedly, inside and out, her nectar painting his mouth and running down his chin. His licks were relentless and rhythmic, continuing until she was teetering on the edge, and just as her vision was about to dissolve into starbursts, he traced his tongue round her walls before retracting it.

"Mmm," Evelyn groaned.

Val kissed her forehead and briefly moved out of her line of vision. When he came back, his underwear was gone, and he was holding a vibrating egg, a congratulatory present from Luigi and Daisy. The former had also given Val some detailed advice regarding capers in the bedroom, using his own experiences to coach his friend on how to drive his lady wild.

He knelt before her on the bed, the egg on its lowest setting. Her eyes rolled back slightly as he traced the edges of her body with the egg at a snail's pace, from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. He tickled her by running it down the soles of her feet. Then, he moved it up her calves, her thighs, her pelvis, her trunk, her belly button, her ribs. He took his time exploring her torso with the egg, quickly finding the areas which made her tick. Her moans, husky and throaty. When he reached her breasts, he ran the egg up, down and around the domes before sliding it between them and holding it there.

Then, he moved his body over hers, and Evelyn braced herself for the moment when she'd awaken, alone in her bed with acute throbbing between her legs. But as his warm, swollen length slid inside her, she realized, _I'm not dreaming._

"Val…"

Aligning his chest with hers, Val began to thrust, slowly at first so she could acclimate, and then steadily picking up pace until he was pumping full tilt in her in deep, lunging strokes. The sight of her, eyes black with lust, her body pink and sweaty, grappling and throbbing on the inside and vibrating on the outside, served to increase his frenzy. He drove as deeply as he could go, swelling even further until he was downright stretching her. All the while, he kept the egg between her breasts, sometimes changing the angle of his hold, watching her muscles dance in response to it. Soon, he timed his thrusts with those dancing muscles, creating a union of rhythm, their rhythm, a rhythm which would send them to an ecstatic finish.

With the egg, he kneaded out a tempo to further accompany his pumps; his hips had developed a life of their own. He'd ballooned so much that he could swear he'd burst any moment, yet he continued to fill his wife-to-be with the most intense pleasure he could give. Deep gasps spewed from his mouth, while screams and filthy words issued from hers. As he pistoned still faster, he slid the egg down, down, down, until he turned the intensity up slightly and pressed it to her mound. Evelyn's screams became more passionate from the bigger waves of pleasure swamping her. Val moaned languidly in response, holding her closer to him and lunging deeper and harder into her, suffused in slickness, her walls akin to bellows now. He'd always remember the feeling of her sweat-sparkled body sliding against his pecs, chest and stomach, of their pelvises mashing together. His hand was sweaty from gripping the egg for so long, yet he proceeded to run it along her mound, purposely targeting places which affected him as well as her, drawing it closer and closer to where they were united.

Her receptacle was now closing in on him. She screamed his name again and again as her shuddering increased and her hips began to spasm. Val responded by pumping like a wild man, breathing harder and harder, whispering in her ear. She was flopping under him now, seeking out release, her toes curling and her free hand tangling in his hair. Her cries devolved into gibberish, and that was when Val knew he was doing everything perfectly. When all she knew were his movements in her, his muscular yet cozy body over hers and that egg—Val knew he was on the right track. When she could barely say something coherent—Val knew that he'd been faithful to Luigi's advice. Drawing on more of that advice, he lifted his body so that only his pecs brushed her domes as he thrust, keeping the same pace, even as her walls hugged and squeezed and tugged at him—

Val continued his fervent lunges into her till he was seconds from bursting, till she was seconds from clamping down on him, and then stopped, inching himself out. Evelyn mewled with need, but Val smiled and slid the egg to the space he'd vacated. "Soon," he promised, dialing up the egg's intensity yet again. He unfastened the fluffy cuffs and put them away; then, he kissed her wrist. "Look in the drawer…"

Evelyn opened it with a shaky hand and noticed a few bottles of lotion. "Which?" she asked.

"First one you see," he panted, and Evelyn selected the bottle which jumped out the most. Daisy had also given her advice on this matter and spoke ecstatically of this particular brand of lotion.

Evelyn held up the bottle she chose, and Val gently closed the drawer.

"That was a good choice," nodded Val as Evelyn popped up the cap and squeezed a fair amount onto her palm.

She sat up, trying not to disturb the egg, and began to rub the lotion into her fiancé with circular, yet jittery, motions. She started with his neck, collarbone, shoulders, shoulder blades, arms and hands before teasing at his pecs and massaging his upper body and back. Val let out a manly grunt as she applied more lotion to her palm and continued down to his waist and pelvic region. She rubbed lower and lower, making him twitch and give a small growl.

When she found what she was looking for, she methodically laid it out in her lotion-covered hand and softly stroked it with the other, first using one finger, and then two, and then three and then the entire hand. It pulsed like a heartbeat in her grasp.

"Nngh," said Val, his hips spasming. "Evie—what are you…?

She shushed him and stroked him again, and again, and again, her strokes gradually becoming wholehearted pumps.

"God…" gasped Val, bucking up into her hand. "J—s, where did you learn this?"

Encouraged by his reaction, Evelyn just kept going, fast and fierce. He growled and groaned her name, head thrown back, fingers digging into the sheets, while Evelyn kept her breathing steady, determined to make him moan and scream like she did, egg or no egg. Speaking of the egg, Val managed to reach down and turn it to its highest setting, causing her to nearly explode! Her rhythm turned spasmodic, making him bite into his own hand. He waited till he was almost over the edge and then drew her hands away, kissing them tenderly.

"I need…" she began.

"I know," he said, removing the egg and placing it on her stomach.

"I love you, Val," Evelyn said softly as he positioned himself.

"I love you, too," breathed Val as he slipped back in her.

 _I'm not dreaming_ , she told herself over the sounds they both made. _I'm not dreaming_.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"I didn't know who else to call; I…"

"I'm here," Luigi told Grant over the phone. "I won't let you go. I promise. What is it?"

"I got a call from the—the—funeral home," hiccupped Grant. "They—they're ready to make arrangements."

"I know how hard this must be for you," said Luigi. "Mario and I had to bury our mom when we were still kids, and we lost our dad shortly after we rescued Peach for the first time. Do you—want me to go with you?"

"My wife's accompanying me, but I could use some extra support," smiled Grant. "Th-thanks, L. See you soon."

"Yeah. See ya." Luigi hung up and swiped at his eyes. Grant was a mess! He could only hope that the support group was helping him. But if not, he needed to bring this to Dr. Mario's attention so he could refer the salesman to a grief counselor. Their secret crusade also seemed to relieve the stress, but Luigi was worried that Grant would take it too far. Then, he straightened his body and forced himself to stop crying. He had to be strong for his new friend and for the others in his group. That was why he joined—not only to draw from the strength of others in his situation but also to lend strength to them. Then, he checked his watch. His next match was fast approaching, and it was gonna be a doozy.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 _ **Later that afternoon…**_

"Before we begin today's activities, we have a new participant to meet," said Dr. Thorpe, gesturing to the college sophomore with the dirty blonde ringlets.

"Hi," said the newbie. "My name's Caroline."

"Hello, Caroline," everyone said.

"I was picked on because my weight was—slightly above average—over the other girls," said Caroline. "I also wore braces to correct an overbite problem, and the mean girls found ways to make fun of my hair. They called me things like 'metal-mouth', 'whale', 'pufferfish', 'the Human Mop'. Embarrassing photos of me were taken and posted on social media without my knowledge. Smoothies and shakes were dumped on me. I easily shrugged it off—until my senior year in high school.

"Turns out that Brittany, the school socialite, decided that she and her posse weren't tormenting me enough. So, she upped it by dunking my hair into unflushed toilets and flushing them, stealing my clothes while I showered after gym class, purposely aimed at my face during dodgeball, basketball, volleyball or soccer games, slamming me into lockers lined with crushed glass, using me as a trash bin, a food waste disposal and a punching bag. The last straw was when she tampered with the slideshow to humiliate me at commencement."

"More embarrassing photos?" asked Dr. Thorpe.

"Try a movie she made with her friends, mocking me," said Caroline. "I'm not gonna lie—I felt like I had nothing to live for after that. But then I thought—what's the good in that when I can take care of it a different way?"

"What do you mean?" Grant wanted to know.

Caroline grinned. "I got accepted into Perdue, so I knew I wasn't going to see Brittany or her pals again. So, a few days after graduation, I took a souvenir—her pretty, beach-blonde hair." She paused, letting her words sink in.

"You shouldn't have done that," admonished Dr. Thorpe.

Caroline shrugged. "Well, I did, and I don't regret it. I've kept that hair in a cookie tin ever since. Currently, it's safely ensconced in a drawer in my apartment at P.U. I was referred here by my roommate when I confessed to her."

"We're happy to have you, Caroline," said Dr. Thorpe.

"Thanks," said Caroline, taking a seat next to Grant and Luigi.

"Well done, you," said Luigi, patting Caroline on the shoulder.

"Would you have done the same?" asked Caroline.

"If it had been a man, yes," admitted Luigi. "I've taken a strict vow against hurting women. My Princess would've found out, anyway."

"And what would she have done?" wondered Caroline.

"Definitely more than take her hair as a souvenir," chuckled Luigi.

Caroline giggled. "You must be Luigi."

"Yep. And that's Grant. And we think that's the way those beasts should be handled."

"I like you already," said Caroline.

Dr. Thorpe moved on to the next order of business. "Last week, I asked you to write about how certain situations would've gone if you'd used assertion rather than aggression. I'd like to hear thoughts from some of you."

Luigi volunteered to go first. "I wrote about the time a fellow Smasher insulted me," he said. "I thought about it, and I concluded that a better way to handle it was to simply ignore him. And maybe, through my actions, I would've easily proved to him that I wasn't a n—b, or the bottom of the food chain, or 'the last-place loser'. Heck, I won against the guy without throwing a single punch! Is that proof enough?"

"Is that how you would've asserted yourself? Through action?" asked Dr. Thorpe.

"Yes."

Eric went next. "Whenever someone ganged up on me, my words would've stopped them in their tracks as well as my fists," he offered. "I would've said something they'd have to think hard about."

"Perps do anything to provoke law enforcement these days," Giulia sighed, "so I guess the way I could assert myself is not to give them the satisfaction of reacting to their barbs." She cast a sideways glance to Luigi and Grant as she spoke. Something told her that those two were behind the people disappearing and then reappearing beaten to within an inch of their lives. Especially how they complimented Caroline on cutting Brittany's hair off. But how could she prove it was them?

"Very good, Giulia. Caroline, although you're new, could you give us some ideas on how to use assertion rather than aggression?"

"Maybe—I just could've told Brittany and her girls off rather than take a pair of scissors to her hair," said Caroline.

"Your parents never found out?" Giulia curiously asked.

"One of my friends took the fall for me," explained Caroline. "That was so sweet of her."

"You have lovely friends, Caroline," said Grant.

"Let me guess: nobody stood up for you?"

Grant was stunned by the college sophomore's intuition. "Yes. My friends were cowards, and they'd leave me holding the bag. I visited one of them, trying to peacefully tell them off, and he had the audacity to blame me."

"You know what? Screw them," smiled Caroline. "They're not your friends. I'm your friend. Luigi's your friend. Everyone else here are your friends. And so is Dr. Thorpe. Am I right?"

Dr. Thorpe nodded. "You sure are. Now, for our next order of business." Villagers walked in, bringing various art supplies. "I'd like you all to clear your minds and draw me a picture of something you think about in a moment of high adrenaline."

"Individually, in pairs, or…?" asked Eric.

"Individually, if you please."

The group participants pounced upon the art supplies without further prompting.

Luigi wore a big smile as he sat at his easel. As soon as Dr. Thorpe's instructions left her lips, he knew what he was going to draw. Maybe if he showed this to his group, he'd get advice on how to further cope. The colored pencils, and later the paint, drew out the scenes in photographic memory, like a comic book. Heck, he wouldn't mind if some of his new friends paid the offenders a little visit. Though he wanted to move on, part of him wanted to remind them of what they did and remind them that they weren't exactly choirboys in his eyes. And as he worked, he felt the memories coming back, which only drove him to trace and paint with greater vehemence. It felt exponentially better than the matches he'd fought against the offenders in all four tournaments combined, or the nights in the Training Room, or the moments spent locked in his room with the music cranked up to the max, dancing like he'd never danced before. But not much in that case.

When Dr. Thorpe directed everyone to regroup, Luigi felt as if he'd run a marathon. But it was so worth it.

Everyone turned their easels around so that Dr. Thorpe could see their artworks. Instantly, her eye fell on Luigi's.

"My," she gasped. "This is interesting."

Luigi had painted a series of random, yet theme-connected, scenes. Him and this masked man in a lounge, the masked one speaking to the plumber via speech bubble. The masked man up close, sneering, mocking, another speech bubble capturing more words. A cocky-looking, anthropomorphic fox, hands on hips, also saying something to Luigi. The fox, scoffing. A pair of suede boots with the laces tied together. Tomatoes with an "M" on them sailing through the air and landing with darkly comic SPLATS onto Luigi's face and clothing. Towels and washcloths flicked against bare skin in a locker room. Some sort of list, with Luigi at the bottom. The tier list? Luigi mentioned something about that. A crowd, booing and jeering, insults popping up in block letters. The fox and the masked man, snickering. Harsh words on a computer screen. A shouting match between Luigi and this yellow creature with a lightning bolt-shaped tail. A shouting match devolving into a physical brawl. The yellow creature, sailing through the air like a missile. Luigi, doing the same. A man in red (Mario perhaps?) patting Luigi on the back, the latter holding some sort of trophy. A close-up of a foot atop another. The man in red, standing before a piece of paper and staring into space, an innocent smile on his features. So many scenes, saying the same thing.

"Luigi—have these people—wronged you?" asked Giulia.

"Yes," Luigi said quietly.

"Could you explain some of these scenes to us? Who are these characters?"

"The masked man is the Smasher I told you about earlier, who called me those names. The fox is one of his friends. And as you can see, they tied my shoelaces together and flicked wet towels at me in the shower sometimes. Back in the day, the crowd used to boo, jeer and throw Maxim tomatoes. I'd be ridiculed via the blog, as well. The list is the tier list, the reason why they made fun of me. The yellow creature is Pikachu. You know, the iconic Pokémon? Well, we once had a feud regarding my Green Missile and his Skull Bash, and it got ugly at some points."

"What about this man?" asked Dr. Thorpe, indicating the red-clad man. "Isn't that…?"

"Yep. That's the elder, secret-keeping, fame-hogging brother of mine, Mario."

"But—he loves you. He got you through this."

"Ah, but he's not entirely innocent, either. Did any of you see me in Super Mario 64? No. He saw the tier list before I did; he knew I was last. But you know what he told me? That I was 'ranked low'. And not long after I _rescued_ him from my biggest fear—ghosts—the two of us competed in a tennis tournament. It was called Power Tennis. We both advanced to the finals in both singles and doubles. We took the doubles with no problem, but for the singles, we were pitted against one another, and I won. As I accepted my trophy, Mario came over, saying that he was proud of me, that I was number one, blah, blah, blah. He patted me on the back. Then, I felt a strange pressure on my foot, so I looked down, and—there was his boot, on top of mine. My big bro, who was so [ _bleep_ ]-ing proud of me, just stepped on my foot. And laughed. Now, to this day, he _swears_ it was an accident." He rolled his eyes.

"You don't believe him," said Dr. Thorpe.

"I don't know," Luigi said honestly, "but the memory just—flares up sometimes."

"You're brothers," Caroline broke in. "I know you'll get past it."

"I already have. I just—still think about it sometimes. You're—not gonna shave his hair off, are you?"

"No reason to fret. He's safe," quipped Caroline.

Giulia bit her lip, staring at Luigi's painting. Luigi insisted that she'd forgiven the characters depicted for their transgressions against him, yet the police officer in her wasn't so sure. And the police officer in her also told her that she had a legit reason to fear for the lives of the fox and the masked man. Especially the masked man.

But she'd just have to see.

"The flare-ups occur during my matches," said Luigi. "After the matches, regardless of whether I win or lose, the memories go away, and I go on with my life. And I can't figure out why."

"We'll continue to talk about it in succeeding meetings," promised Dr. Thorpe. "Now, who would like to go next?"

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 **TRAITOR.**

The accusation was as clear as day on the man's chest, marked by permanent ink, the letters dripping blood. As for the accused, he lay limp against his bonds, having accepted that his Judgement Day had come. Tonight, Luigi handled the tattoo machine, and in Grant's opinion, he was a fast learner. After luring the so-called "friend" to their Batcave, securing him and stripping him, Grant had explained the charges against him and demanded to know why the man didn't stick up for him. The man had tried to downplay Grant's situation and claimed that he thought the salesman could handle it. But after graduation, Grant had lost touch with the man, not even a letter, an email, a text or a postcard from him. Then, the man informed Grant in an increasingly hostile and defensive tone that he'd "been caught up in other things like, you know, raising children and paying bills", and thus had no time to catch up with old friends.

"That's no excuse," Grant had huffed in a pained voice. "I raise four children and sell flashlights, and yet I try to reach out to old friends every so often."

"Hey—what's the big idea, anyway?" the man had demanded.

"It seems that my old man couldn't 'handle it'," Grant had explained, "and my poor, dear mother couldn't handle losing her son's father so—violently."

The man had blanched. "You don't mean…?"

"Oh, I do. My dad couldn't handle the castigating anymore, so he called us, said his goodbyes, and…" He wished the man he'd once trusted could understand what it was like to see his father on the coroner's slab, departed by his own hand. "My mom heard it happen and called me in a panic. Shortly after she got the news and identified him, her heart gave out on her."

"Well," the man had stated in a flat tone. "I don't know what to say."

"We knew you'd say that," Grant had told him, his lip crumpling with hurt, "and guess what? I don't know what to say to you, either. I guess my friend and I should let our actions speak for us, shouldn't they?"

"Wait—what are you talking about?" the man had asked, his eyes darting from Grant to Luigi.

"You'll see," Grant had assured him, his face splitting into a twisted grin.

That was when the man knew.

The fun began as Grant took the stun stick to the man's flesh, stuck it in his mouth to shock him from the inside, and then used it on his package. The man shrieked piteously, his muscles spasming, as his former friend poured volts of intense electricity in him. When he was finished, Grant left the stun stick lodged inside him and smeared Vaseline on the man's arms and legs.

"L?" he called.

Luigi stepped into the man's view, his index finger alight with green fire.

"Please! Don't let him do that to me!" pleaded the man. "I'll do anything!"

"Too late," Grant said calmly. "Many years too late."

Eagerly, Luigi pounced on the man, dragging his fiery finger down his left arm, his right arm and then his legs. "What else should I burn?" he asked.

The man opened his mouth to speak, but then Luigi grabbed his tongue and seared it with his flames.

"Since you were so hesitant to speak up for Grant," he hissed, "how about you have some difficulty speaking, period?"

The man squeezed his eyes shut, but Luigi tsk-tsked. "C'mon. We don't want you to miss out on this."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out some safety pins. Then, he pried the man's eyelids open and drove the pins through the delicate flesh, so that his eyes would remain open.

"That's better," said Luigi.

Without a warning, Luigi slammed a fist into the man's face, causing his eyes to roll back in his head for a few seconds. The plumber sat on the man's chest and socked him repeatedly, blood and teeth spraying into the air, bones cracking. When he was certain that every bone in the man's face had been completely smashed, Luigi slid off him, catching his breath, trying to calm down. Grant beamed in approval at his friend.

"Couldn't have done it better myself," said Grant.

Luigi smiled back, stood up and took one of the knives laid out on a tray. "You don't know what you have till it's gone, right?" he asked, using his fire to heat up the knife.

"Right," nodded Grant.

"And," continued Luigi, getting astride the man again, "this guy knew little about the power of speech, right?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Well…" Luigi forced the man's mouth open and seized the charred tongue. "He'll have plenty of time to think about how he should've wielded the power of speech—before he lost it!"

He plunged the hot knife into the man's tongue and began sawing as the man screamed. Tears poured out of his eyes as he watched his tongue being severed, blood pouring out of the organ until it came free with one last slice. The man was left with a burnt, bleeding stump, the crimson egret gushing out of his mouth and pooling around his head.

After cleaning the knife, Luigi then dragged it down the man's stomach, from his abdomen to his hip. He continued carving into the man's body like a surgeon, humming a tune, as the man made gurgling noises, unable to apologize or ask for mercy. Deep lacerations now covered his torso, and once Luigi was satisfied with his work, he jabbed the knife against the man's electrocuted package.

Grant shook his head. "Don't bother. It's not like he'll be able to woo anyone now."

Luigi obliged, instead carving the letters L and G into the man's thighs.

"I need the tattoo machine," he said as he put the knife away.

"You sure about this?" asked Grant as he brought the equipment over.

"One hundred percent," smiled Luigi.

He sterilized the needle, turned on the machine and turned back to the man. "Just so you'll know, I'm a novice at this," he warned, "so this isn't gonna be a pretty sight."

And then he plunged the needle into the man's skin.

Now, the two men stood, looking down at the branded one. The word was stretched from one end of his chest to the other, for the world to see. Blood and drool seeped from his mouth, and his face was a bruised, bloody and broken mess. Burns covered his limbs, his body charred from the electric shocks, and his abdominal region was covered in knife wounds. Not to mention the stun stick still in him—

Luigi reached down and pressed the button of the stun stick, making the man jerk around like a dancing puppet. His face scrunched, and he couldn't scream, save for a few gurgles from his throat. Finally, Luigi released the button and pelted the wounded abdomen with hard, furious kicks.

"Some friend you turned out to be," he snapped.

Gently, Grant drew his friend away. "He's not worth another second of our time," he said. "Besides, the night is still young."

Luigi smiled at him. "Of course."

After getting cleaned up, the two secret crusaders emerged from their Batcave and into the night, ready to lay a trap for yet another bully—

 **Please R &R.**


	8. Interlude: Holding On

**Holding On**

 **TW: Angst and grief**

 ** _Grant's POV_**

 **It's like stepping into the house of the dead. The room is silent and solemn, brightly illuminated by the lights above. But the atmosphere is gloomy, for here is where we talk about death, about the treatment and display of the dead, about the final send-off into the hereafter.**

 **"I'm sorry for your loss," says the funeral director, shaking my hand. Even the grasp feels cold, like a living corpse. I'm walking on a tightrope as I follow the funeral director into the office, where the grim business begins.**

 **I feel like I'm being held together by mere glue. The glue can fail at any minute. Glue or duct tape. Glue can dissolve, and tape can wear thin. My nerves are shaved so finely that a simple touch of a fingertip can tear them apart. A delicate thread suspends me above the abyss of grief and despair. Even the office smells of death and decay. I'm secretly counting the seconds until I can leave this place.**

 **The director smiles. "I'll try to make this as painless as possible," he says.**

 **Yeah, right. That's what they always say. How can this balding man in a monkey suit possibly ease my pain—the pain of losing my mom and dad within days of each other? If I could, I'd reach across, grab him by his scrawny neck, and—**

 **A feminine hand brings me back to Earth, and I smile gratefully at my Leni. She looks like an angel, guiding me through this Hellish place that is a funeral home. A reassuring look is on her face, even though I know she's also in pain. She looks crisp in a simple tan dress and minimal makeup, her hair in a chignon. We entwine our fingers together as the funeral director presents me with the casket selection.**

 **Silently, I leaf through the pamphlet, tears blurring my vision. Why did I end up here, picking boxes for my parents' lifeless bodies? Oh, right—those heartless wretches put me in this room, looking at fancy boxes to be buried in six feet of dirt! They killed two of the people who truly cared for my well-being, and the murder weapons were their cruel words! It should be a crime! Those bullies should go to jail!**

 **And while I'm sitting there, trying to find suitable caskets without going into bankruptcy, a soft, gloved hand touches the small of my back. And there, holding back his own tears, is Luigi, my new friend, wearing a white, button-down shirt, navy slacks and a green blazer. Brown hair elegantly slicked down. He doesn't have to say anything. I already know. Sandwiched between Luigi and Leni, comfort radiates from their bodies. They're the only reasons why I'm not an emotional mess.**

 **I pick the two caskets for my parents. A cross between a cream and a beige color, lined with soft yet bio-degradable material. So, when the vessels once containing my parents' souls finally become plant fodder, no inorganic material will hinder the natural process. The price is relatively modest, but there's still the embalming, the burial plot, and the funeral service to consider…**

 **If those beats had taken a second from their belittling, I would've told them that my dad served our country as a naval officer and had defended us all from the Axis powers. He risked his life to ensure our safety, security and freedom, and this is how my classmates repaid him, by sneering about how he "abandoned" me and my mom? The fact that the Navy is covering some of the expenses eases the financial burden of this process, yet it's still painful. I feel like I should've done something to keep my dad from breaking down like that.**

 **I decide not to have a melodramatic, splashy service. Only friends and family members will be permitted. We'll also have an organist, a choir, and a chance for the congregation to reminisce and tell stories. There will be a nice procession at the end, and finally, the burial with full military honors at the Smashville National Cemetery. Only in death will my dad receive the recognition and respect he deserves. A cold comfort to me, his only child.**

 **My parents will be buried together in a modest plot, not too big and not to small, festooned with lilies and tulips, their favorite flowers. They will share one headstone, and I prefer a simple epitaph over an over-the-top, flowery one. Maybe I'll plant a tree over them, so they'll always be sheltered and protected. I think they'll like that.**

 **Finally, I go over how I want them embalmed and dressed. My dad will wear his favorite polo shirt supporting his favorite football team, a pair of blue jeans, white socks and tennis shoes, his lucky watch on his left wrist. My mom will wear her white blouse with Betty Boop plastered on the front, a floral print skirt, stockings and a pair of flats. Her hair will be down, perfectly framing her face. I tell the director not to go too crazy on the embalmment—just enough to make them presentable for the service.**

 **When the director steps away, Luigi gets my attention with a soft "Hey."**

 **I turn. "Yeah?"**

 **"If you want, I'll help pay for the expenses," he offers. "I'll start fundraisers, charities—that sort of thing. I could get Master Hand involved, too."**

 **I smile wanly. "I'll think about it, L," I say.**

 **Leni nods. "That's a kind, compassionate offer to make," she says.**

 **The director returns. "They're in the embalming room if you want to see how the process is coming along," he says.**

 **"Okay," I say. "Thanks."**

 **Leni and Luigi have to help me out of my chair to follow the director to the embalming room. I'm stumbling like a drunken man. I don't know if I can do this. Not again. Not after—the morgue—**

 **My knees buckle, and there I am, on the floor, crying like a little boy.**

 **"I can't!" I blubber. "I can't see them like that! Not again! Not again!"**

 **Coarse sobs rip from my throat. In my mind, I'm back in the morgue, identifying my father for the first time. The form on the slab had hardly looked like my dad—just a practically headless body wearing my dad's clothes. Then, I'm in the hospital, confronted with my mom's frail form as her eyes turn empty and her monitor flatlines. I hear the doctor call the time of death and then offer me empty consolations, and it's all too much. On the cold linoleum floor of the funeral home I lay, sobbing and sobbing.**

 **Two other bodies join me on that floor. Leni's slender body enfolds me in her familiar warmth and scent, while Luigi's strong arms lock onto me from behind, his head against my shoulder blade. I feel their hearts beating against my body, which only makes me cry harder, this time from happiness. It's like I've been left stranded in a place I know and don't know at the same time, and they're the Coast Guard, aiming to find me and lead me back home.**

 **"We're here, Grant," whispers Leni. "We're here. We're not going anywhere. It's gonna be okay."**

 **"Yeah," breathes Luigi. "We'll never let you go. We won't let you fall. I swear it."**

* * *

 **School has started back up, so updates will be less frequent.**

 **Please review.**


	9. Revelations

**Revelations**

 **TW: Dark themes, bullying and implied self-harm**

 _ **The following Saturday…**_

Dr. Park sat at a table in the Smash Café, nursing a cup of coffee. She was clad in a hot pink V-neck shirt, a pair of skinny jeans and a pair of beige ballet flats. A smile lit up her face when she saw Dr. Mario enter.

"Hi," she said, greeting him with a handshake and a hug. "Thank you for coming."

"My pleasure," said Dr. Mario, sitting in the seat his colleague proffered. "A lovely day for a talk, isn't it?"

"Indeed," smiled Dr. Park as a waiter came over.

"I'll have a latte and your egg special," Dr. Mario said to the waiter.

"And I'll have a refill on my coffee and your pancake special," said Dr. Park.

Once the waiter left to put their orders in, Dr. Mario faced his colleague. "So," he said, "what would you like to know?"

"First off," said Dr. Park, "will these—memories—hinder your ability to handle this case?"

"No, absolutely not," replied Dr. Mario. "I can handle it. And I took on the case because I want to help him, the way he helped me."

"So, no bias or anything?"

Dr. Mario shook his head. "I'm sure that I'll be able to work to the best of my ability, regardless of the memories."

Dr. Park took a sip of her coffee. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked.

"That I was being—bullied? Because—I thought I would seem like a poor mentor in your eyes," explained Dr. Mario, "and I was afraid that they'd make you a target, as well."

"Dr. M—I chose you as my mentor because of your work. Your advancements in medicine, the development of your Megavitamins and your research publications—the fact that you were a clone in Melee didn't matter to me."

Dr. Mario blushed. "Thank you, Kristy," he said. "You sure you're not just trying to butter me up?"

"No. I mean every word."

Dr. Mario's latte arrived. He softly blew on the liquid as he contemplated what he was going to say next.

"I became a doctor because I wanted to help others besides the Princess," he said finally. "Every day, there are pesky little viruses threatening the health of citizens like us. So, I decided to arm myself with the medical knowledge to combat those viruses. I'm glad I did. I became an instant success."

"Did you consider opening up a clinic in Brooklyn?" asked Dr. Park.

"Kind of," said Dr. Mario. "I mean, I still had the plumbing business up and running, and there were still heroics I had to perform. For financial security, I elected to keep it simple, and stick to the small clinic I ran in the MK. Besides, this was during the era when the kart racing and sports started springing up, and those were quite fun."

"When the first tournament was announced, did you consider joining it?"

"Not really. Beating someone up _did_ go against my 'first, do no harm' oath. But by 2001, things at the clinic began to slump a little, so why not join Melee to remind everyone that I'm still a force to reckon with?"

"Did you expect to be a clone?"

"I knew that my moveset would be similar to Mario's. But I didn't expect that it would be something for others to laugh about."

"When did it—start?" ventured Dr. Park.

"Shortly after my first match," replied Dr. Mario. "By then, word had spread that I was Mario's clone. When I was on the battlefield, they booed at me. They jeered at my victories. They sent me hate mail. They heckled me. They spat at me. I'd get crank calls late into the night, and people would tell me to—you know."

"My God," breathed Dr. Park.

"And it would get physical, as well," Dr. Mario went on, "but I just shook it off and went about my business. I'd tune out the booing and hissing and jeering and insulting, and just focus on my opponent and on beating them to a bloody pulp. My matches were where I let the monster out, let my hatred out. I wanted to break a few of their bones, draw blood. And afterward, I took them to my office and fixed them up and sent them on their way. One other thing—they sure weren't talking that trash whenever they fell ill and needed my expertise.

"I was so tempted to, uh, commit malpractice. You know, just—let them get an infection or purposely botch a surgery when they were on the operating table. Part of me was convinced that they didn't deserve to live after what they did to me. And after they were healed up, they went right back to hassling me. So, that was the thanks I got from them."

"But not all of them did that, right?"

"No. Ness, Young Link, Pichu, Roy…" He shuddered at that last name. "The Ice Climbers and the Original Twelve were nice to me. It was mostly the audience doing that stuff. And Koopa and Ganondorf, but who was I to expect better from them? I just—took it all and told myself I could handle it. Until—Luigi."

"How'd he find out?"

"He didn't have to. One morning, he came in for his routine physical. We were going to have an Event Match later on, and I would be allied with Peach. The two of us were just talking, and then Luigi just looked at me and said, 'I know how you feel'."

"That's when you found out that your situation was identical to his," reasoned Dr. Park.

"Maybe worse. I don't even know who drew the short straw when it came to bullying. Anyway, Luigi talked about how he was teased in 1999 for being last on that list, and how it continued because he was the second player and of his timid personality. Then, he called me out for pretending it wasn't happening. He was right, you know. I had to fight back, somehow. After Luigi and I talked, the days became bearable. He'd given me the strength to acknowledge what they were doing and to try to put a stop to it."

The waiter arrived with their food, and the two doctors got out their utensils and dug in.

"But it still got to me, and it got to me hard," sighed Dr. Mario. "After spending most of the tournament being trampled upon for being a clone, while my medical accomplishments were overlooked, one of my scalpels started to look quite—friendly. But what kind of doctor would I be if I started doing that to myself? But I can't lie to you—I was tempted to do that several times. It repulsed me for good when I got—the call."

"About Kirby?"

Dr. Mario nodded. "I knew I wasn't the only one putting up with that crap, so I started hanging out with Kirby as well as the clones, hoping he'd give me some insight. He seemed so—cheerful. I had no idea that he'd been pushed to that point. I'm a doctor, so I should've known. But so mired was I in my own situation that—Kirby's just slid under my radar. Then, one night, I was about to go to bed when the phone rang. I'll never forget the urgent tone in Luigi's voice as long as I live. The need to sleep was all but forgotten. I dressed, grabbed my supplies and dashed to my office to meet them. Luigi brought Kirby in—it was awful. I fixed up the little puffball, and then I opened up to them both. Confessing my urges to do likewise and apologizing for overlooking the severity of things in favor of my own problems. That's why I decided to expand my practice to psychiatry. I vowed to lend my hand to others during a stormy period in their lives, no matter how badly I was being bullied. And I was better able to identify with them since I had firsthand experience."

"Why weren't you invited back for Brawl?" asked Dr. Park. "Did you choose not to go?"

Dr. Mario sighed. "I managed to beat back the bullying, but I still wasn't very popular. That's why I was briefly dropped from the roster. But that didn't deter me. A lot of the Melee veterans missed me, too. So, I was invited back for the fourth tournament by popular demand. Unfortunately, some of the audience members hadn't changed their opinion on me. But then I remembered Luigi and what he said to me that day, so, it didn't hurt as badly."

"But…" prompted Dr. Park.

"You're right. I still think about it. And it still makes me angry. That's why I'm not surprised that Luigi still thinks about certain things while engaged in a match."

"Do you—forgive them?" asked Dr. Park.

"Honestly, I try to practice what I preach. But it's hard. It's so freaking hard."

"So, you—don't forgive them?"

"I'm not saying that," explained Dr. Mario. "Each day, I've taken steps toward forgiving them so I can move on. But some nights, I lie in bed and think about their transgressions. And it really flares up when I'm fighting someone. Same with Luigi. We both still think we've got something to prove. We both remember what's been done to us. And that makes us both so—aggressive in our matches."

"You understand Luigi so much," mused Dr. Park.

"I do," nodded Dr. Mario, "and let me tell you something else. Something—disturbing."

Dr. Park blinked. "What?"

"I've had—fantasies—Kristy."

"F-fantasies?" repeated Dr. Park.

"Dark—fantasies. Like the ones Luigi had. Remember when I said that part of me thought my tormentors didn't deserve to live? Well—the thought made up those fantasies."

"You said that you fantasized botching operations and letting them get infections or things like that," said Dr. Park.

"That's not all. I fantasized doing more—things—to them."

"Like killing them?"

Dr. Mario cleared his throat. "Yes, and—uh—mutilating them and torturing them and seeing their blood and hearing them scream and beg me for mercy. Kinda like the things Luigi did to _his_ tormentors. Just—toned down a bit. I mean, I wouldn't have sliced off certain organs or body parts or stuck things in them. But I still would've made them pay for what they did to me without the luxury of anesthesia."

"Like a mad scientist, eh?"

"Yeah."

"Do you still have these fantasies?"

"No. Like I said, the harassment didn't get to me as much. Plus, I threw myself into my work. Gradually, the fantasies became less appealing. Now, I'm going to pull Luigi back from _his_ fantasies."

"You still think he has them?"

"Not a day goes by when I don't."

"Why didn't you tell me about any of this?" Dr. Park demanded of her mentor. "I would've helped you. I specialize in psychiatry, remember?"

"I know," sighed Dr. Mario, "and for that, I truly apologize. I just thought I could deal on my own."

"You don't have to endure this alone, Dr. M," said Dr. Park, laying her hand over his. "You have your friends. You have the other Mario. You have Luigi. You have Dr. Thorpe. And you have me."

"Wow," breathed Dr. Mario. "Thank you, Kristy. Thank you for listening."

"And I thank you for unburdening yourself to me," said Dr. Park. "However, if this case somehow becomes too much, you have to let me know. Promise me that you'll let me know."

"You have my word," promised Dr. Mario.

"Great," said Dr. Park. "Enjoy your meal; it's on me."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Needless to say, Dr. Mario found his work easier after his chat over breakfast with Dr. Park. He knew he could trust his colleague and mentee with helping him deal with his past so he could focus on helping Luigi. Both the psychiatrist and the plumber were right—pretending that the bullying wasn't happening or wasn't affecting him was unhealthy. Unconsciously, he found himself drawing greater parallels between his and Luigi's situation with each visit, and he made it his mission to steer the man in green clear of the very fantasies which had tempted him.

Luigi kept insisting that he was better now, that he'd totally wiped out the notion of violent retribution. He even changed his appointment frequency from weekly to biweekly. But the two doctors, especially Dr. Mario, knew better. Something like that didn't just disappear; it faded away with time. And as the appointments passed, they noticed something alarming. It was in his eyes—for sure, it was in his eyes. Luigi would drone on and on about the positive steps he was taking, but his eyes—they were windows to his soul, and those windows bore a dark, wicked secret which made the doctors mildly sick to their stomachs. Perhaps the stuff their patient was telling them was a big, fat lie. Perhaps he still had those gory fantasies. Perhaps—he was still acting on them.

Drs. Mario and Park weren't the only ones on high alert regarding Luigi. Officer Giulia also had klaxons going off in her brain. They were in the way Luigi smiled as a support group member talked about instances of revenge against their tormentor. They were in the glances Luigi shot Grant. They were in the rising number of victims who had disappeared and resurfaced, beaten and tortured within an inch of their lives. They were in the jokes Luigi and Grant sometimes cracked, dark jokes about what to do to some of the bullies. She already had Val on the case, but she knew she'd have to amp up the investigation soon. Perhaps get a subpoena for Grant's and Luigi's medical records and get an understanding of their mental states before confirming them as suspects. Yet part of her hoped against hope that it wouldn't extend that far.

One day, before her support group meeting, Giulia phoned Val.

"How's the investigation coming?" she asked.

"Anticlimactic," sighed Val. "I pulled up Grant, and he turned up clean. No criminal record whatsoever. Makes a respectable living as a flashlight salesman. Husband and father of four. Currently grieving his recently deceased parents."

"We may have to subpoena his medical records," said Giulia. "Could you find out the hospital he's insured with and his primary care physician? I honestly don't want things to go that far, but we've got to be ready."

"Uh—I'll see what I can do. But c'mon, Giulia—he's mourning his parents. His old man took his own life, and the grief was literally too much for the mother to bear. Shouldn't we at least wait until after the funeral? I mean, we have no fingerprints, DNA or anything. All we have are rumors and whim."

"I know," murmured Giulia. "What about Luigi?"

"Since the—incident—I see no reason to suspect him. That support group and the psychiatrist are healing him. Plus, his friend and former roommate is gonna be a dad, and he's as steady as ever with Daisy. Why would he fall apart now?"

"My theory is this: Luigi merely repressed his urges, but Grant somehow pulled him back into that mindset. But until we have hard evidence, we can't prove it."

"Yup. I'm gonna wrap up this little investigation for now. Inconclusive due to lack of evidence. How's that sound?"

"Looks like we have no other choice," murmured Giulia. "Thanks for your help. I'll pay you for your services, but be on standby to reopen it at any moment."

"Roger that, Giulia. It was a pleasure doing business with you. Feel free to call me anytime."

Giulia hung up. She was back to square one with this case. If Luigi and Grant weren't somehow responsible for these mysterious attacks, then who?

Time to set this aside for a while. Maybe then an answer would come to her—

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"L," said Grant. "There's something I need to tell you."

The two men sat in a private booth in an ice-cream parlor, sharing a giant sundae.

"Sure," said Luigi. "You can tell me anything."

"What we're doing," said Grant, "I was tempted to do well before we met."

"For how long?" asked Luigi.

"Since—it started."

"Wow. You've had fantasies from the time you were a kid?"

"Yes, but not as extreme as what we're doing now," explained Grant. "I realized that it wasn't going to stop unless I made it stop, so I fantasized doing that."

"How?"

"In elementary school, it was simple. Putting bugs down the backs of their shirts, throwing mudballs at them, tricking them into eating worms, dropping spiders on them and squirting glue at them. One of the bullies had expensive crayons, and I fantasized stomping them and crushing them as he screamed and cried. I wanted to put newts and other slimy creepy-crawlers from neighborhood creeks and ponds in their desks. Once, we went on a fieldtrip to a wildlife preserve, and there was muddy, murky water filled with pond scum, and I couldn't help but imagine how one of those bullies might have looked wallowing in it. Later on, there were these poison ivy-type plants we had to avoid during our trek, and I briefly envisioned throwing one of my tormentors into a patch of those plants and walking away. But I didn't. I knew that if I did, then I'd wind up in trouble—even expelled from school. There were other ways to handle it."

"But the fantasies kept going," reasoned Luigi.

"Indeed. As I grew older, they grew more—complex. I wanted to hurt them the way they hurt me by finding something rotten about their own family to throw at them. I wanted them on their knees— _on their knees_ —begging for me to forgive them. As the harassment worsened, my fantasies became increasingly—creative. It wasn't like bringing a weapon to school and blitzing the whole place. It was singling out my tormentors and punishing them, one by one, until they got off my back. But I had a life ahead of me. I wanted to be a salesman. So, whenever I wanted to take a swing at my hasslers, I didn't. I fought my way through middle school, high school, college—and here I am now. And yet my fantasizing became darker and darker as I continued to deal with that crap. I just didn't have incentive to act on them—until you. When I first saw you, I knew I could finally turn my fantasies into realities. And it feels d—n great."

"I've nursed fantasies long before I acted on them as well," murmured Luigi. "Thoughts would flare up and then disappear just as quickly. Then, they started to linger, particularly after the Chaos Heart fiasco in 2007. When I got my first true power in Brawl, the fantasies skyrocketed, but I faithfully kept them pocketed—until my year ended. I couldn't take anymore. Starting with the Death Stare, I unleashed my inner beast, and the rest is history."

Luigi then stared intently at Grant. "What about your wife and kids, though? What would they think if they found out what we're doing?"

"Those questions cross my mind a few times," sighed Grant. "I know I should be home with them, hugging them, kissing them and telling them I love them instead of prowling the streets, luring bullies and betrayers into our Batcave and doing God-knows-what to them. And I know you should be with your friends and your brother, trying to move on from last year's events. But the retribution we dole out to those scumbags—their screams, their blood, our fists pounding them and our blades carving into their flesh, their bones breaking, your fire burning them and their eyes full of fear—all of that is a drug. One taste, and I can't get enough."

"I feel the same way," said Luigi, "and we're both attracted to it because we know that it's dangerous and wrong. It gives us an adrenaline rush, and it makes our problems melt away, for a while at least." He cleared his throat. "Hey, I have some interesting news."

"Yeah?"

"Master Hand and Master Core agreed to pay for your parents' funeral. And—I wanna come with you."

A slow smile spread across Grant's face. "I would like that," he said. "Are—any of the other Smashers interested in going?"

"My brother, Peach, Yoshi, Rosa, Kirby—maybe we can invite some members of our group, show their support?"

Grant nodded. "Great idea."

Luigi paid the bill, and they left the ice cream parlor, holding hands.

 **Please R &R.**


	10. Staying Afloat

**Staying Afloat**

 **TW: Adult content, and it gets disturbing at the end!**

 _ **The following week…**_

The Main Hall of the Smash Mansion hosted a special occasion. Congratulatory balloons and banners bedecked the room. Smashers, Assist Trophies and guests bore gift baskets, stuffed animals, food and cards. Party music played at a moderate volume on a stereo.

Just days ago, Mandy and Evan had learned the gender of their twins. They were going to have one boy and one girl. The occasion currently happening was a baby shower for the couple. Master Hand had spared no expenses for the expectant parents, even having the Miis cook up some strange food to satisfy Mandy's cravings. The gift baskets contained baby food, baby toys and "survival kits" for first-time parents. The guys gifted Evan with cigar-shaped chocolates and showered him with handshakes and pats on the back, while the ladies had boxes of decadent cookies and chocolates, and lotions and perfumes for Mandy, along with gentle hugs and cooing to the twins inside her womb. Husband and wife just smiled, gleefully awaiting the moment when they could hold their son and daughter in their arms.

After making arrangements at the funeral, Luigi had invited Grant to his friends' baby shower, and the salesman had accepted. The man in green also brought Giulia, Eric, Caroline and some other members of his support group. The members took the occasion as an opportunity to meet Luigi's other friends. Master Hand, especially, was honored to meet the people helping Luigi maintain his new course.

"It's good to see you again, Grant," said Evan, shaking the salesman's hand.

"Hi, Evan," replied Grant.

"How are you holding up?" asked Mandy.

"Not good," Grant said somberly. "I broke down at the funeral home when I had to check on the embalming process."

"I'm really sorry, Grant," said Mandy. "Is there anything we can do?"

"Right now, you two need to focus on your impending arrivals," said Grant. "Take it from me, twins are gonna take a lot out of you."

"Well, you have four children," said Evan, "I bet that's a handful."

"It is. Luckily, they're all old enough to help out around the house, and they're well behaved around guests. Still, it's not gonna be easy. You'll have to broker truces, enforce rules—the whole nine yards."

"Uh—thanks for the warning," laughed Mandy, "and thanks for the times you've stopped by to help baby-proof our room. It really saved us some time."

"You're welcome. And if you ever need a babysitter, Leni and I can handle two more—temporarily."

"Are you sure?" asked Evan. "I mean, you already have enough on your plate."

"I'm positive," smiled Grant.

"Thanks again for coming," smiled Mandy.

"I couldn't pass this up," beamed Grant.

Evan and Mandy kissed, and then Mandy waddled over to Daisy, who welcomed her with an embrace.

"I can't believe it!" gushed the Sarasaland Princess. "One moment, L and I were meeting you for the first time, and now you're starting a family!"

"I can't believe it, either," mused Mandy, patting her belly, "but I think we're ready."

"Have you decided on names yet?" asked Daisy.

"Not really," said Mandy, "but we're thinking about naming our daughter after Smash's new financier."

"Cerena?" gasped Daisy. "I think she'd be honored to give your daughter her name."

"No. Cydney, her middle name," clarified Mandy.

"They're both beautiful names," said Daisy.

"Speaking of Cerena, what's she been up to?" asked Mandy. "I know she's in a confirmed relationship with the female Wii Fit Trainer."

"Uh—she's managing the hype with the Nintendo Switch," explained Daisy. "So far, there's no Smash game for it yet, but the console is still young, right?"

"Right."

"She should swing by the support group sometime," said Daisy. "After all, she was bullied and oppressed herself. Maybe talking about it with others can give her some closure."

"You know," said Mandy. "Ever since Luigi met Grant, he's been less—tense."

"Indeed," said Daisy. "He's improved drastically. Before Grant, he used to be so stressed out. Now, he's as laid back as always. And when we're in the bedroom together—wow!"

"I get it," winked Mandy. "Evan and I get quite frisky whenever those pregnancy hormones kick in." She blushed.

"It means so much that he still finds time to spend with me after those guys' nights out with Grant," Daisy went on.

"Yeah, for the past month or so, he's gone out every night to hang with Grant," said Mandy. "He doesn't come back till around 4:30 or 5 in the morning. My guess is that they spend the night hitting clubs."

"That's my guess, as well. What else could they be up to?" shrugged Daisy.

 _Yeah, what else?_ Giulia thought, lingering nearby.

Meanwhile, Evan had heaped up a plate of food and now plunked himself on the sofa alongside Val.

"This is what holy matrimony looks like," Evan said proudly.

"Man, that's like a year from now to me," said Val. "I'm a private eye, too, remember?"

"That's not causing any problems?"

Val shook his head. "She's okay with it. How about MH, though? You sure he's okay with this?"

"Definitely," replied Evan. "He, Master Core and the Miis are working their butts off baby-proofing this place."

"Say, uh…" Val cleared his throat. "Has anything been—different—with Luigi since he met Grant? The first time I met the guy, I got a positive vibe, but…"

"Grant has made Luigi more relaxed, that's for sure," said Evan. "They spend nights together, did you know?"

Val's face lit up. "He _did_ say something about that," he said. "Does he ever mention what they do?"

Evan shook his head. "No. Why?"

"Just wondering," Val said casually. He sneaked a glance at Giulia, greeting Mandy and Daisy with a bouquet of flowers, affectionately placing her hand on the former's baby bump. He felt obligated to tell her, but—Luigi was also his friend. How would he feel if he found out Val was spying on him for a police officer—the same police officer attending his support group?

"Anyway," Val went on, "have you reached a verdict on baby names?"

"That's the hardest part," chuckled Evan.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," said Evelyn, walking over with some glasses of punch.

"Nope," said Evan as he accepted his glass. "We're just talking about baby names."

"How about you name your son after the L?" Evelyn coyly suggested.

"Yeah," agreed Val. "We could use another Luigi in this world."

"Or maybe you could name the girl Luciana," Evelyn went on.

"Right now, we've got our hearts set on Cerena for our daughter and Ollie for our son," said Evan.

"Ollie," Val and Evelyn said at the same time.

"Rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?" asked Evan.

"It does," said Val.

"I guess—I'm set for life," Evan said after a while. "I've got the lady of my dreams, two cherubs on the way and one of the best friends I've ever made. Truly, I can't ask for anything more."

"Do you think L will ever be happy?" asked Evelyn.

"Give it time," Evan said wisely, "and he will. Congrats on your engagement—you've earned it."

"Thanks," said Val, kissing his fiancée on the cheek.

The trio turned their heads to see Grant and Luigi talking and laughing together, punch and cookies in hand, and then turning to greet Mandy as she waddled over to them.

And yet, seeing them together gave off the peculiar feeling that they were hiding something—

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"I'm really glad I came," said Grant as he and Luigi helped clean up after the party.

Luigi smiled. "I knew it would cheer you up," he said.

"When's Val's bachelor party coming up?" asked Grant. "I'd love to join him for one last wild night before settling down."

"I think it's in a few weeks or so," Luigi told him.

"I remember what it was like welcoming my four kids into the world," Grant said dreamily. "Leni and I were so happy. I literally cried. Giving life to another—I can't describe the joy that it brings. Babies are so precious—and you want to protect them from the harsh realities of the real world."

"None of them are being bullies or anything, are they?" Luigi asked worriedly.

Grant shook his head. "Not that I know of."

"I have faith in you," said Luigi. "You're a good husband, a good friend and a good father. You can never worry about a child too much. During that mess last year, I was in constant fear over Daisy's safety—and we don't even have kids."

"I haven't posted any photos of my wife or kids on social media," revealed Grant. "What if they come after them? I'll never forgive myself."

"They'll never touch your family," vowed Luigi. "I swear it."

"Liam," Grant said suddenly.

Luigi gave a confused look.

"For Evan's boy—Liam," clarified Grant. "A good, strong name. And for the girl, Leah."

"Liam and Leah," murmured Luigi. "I'll talk to him about it, okay?"

Grant blushed. "Okay."

"You'll get through this," Luigi assured him.

Grant sighed. "I hope you're right, L. I hope you're right."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

The next morning, Grant woke up a few minutes before Leni and the kids. He kissed his wife's cheek and bare shoulders before hopping out of bed and taking a quick shower. When he emerged, a towel around his waist, Leni was sitting up in the bed, propped up by pillows and watching the morning news.

"Welcome to the Age of Trump," she mused as he walked into the room.

He kissed her lips. "Don't waste your time watching his antics," he said.

"We have a few moments till the kids wake up," remarked Leni.

"You're right about that," laughed Grant as he dropped the towel away and climbed back onto the bed.

The two marveled at each other's bodies before Grant went in for the kill, dive-bombing her skin with open-mouthed kisses and wrapping his mouth around her domes. Leni threw her arms around him and drew him closer to her, biting back moans and sighs so as not to wake the kids. He then skimmed down her body with his lips before propping her calves on his shoulders and cupping his hands beneath her lower back. His wife barely had time to register before Grant's tongue slid inside her cavern.

"God…" she said in a strangled voice. The tongue flicked and danced and swirled, and then it began to lick deeply and delightedly. She gripped his shoulder blades and arched her back, gasping and panting. Then, Grant introduced the rest of his mouth, slurping and suckling. Leni couldn't take it anymore and began making gurgling noises from deep in her throat. She didn't care if the kids walked in at that moment. Sooner or later, she'd have to explain what this was—and they were bound to do it themselves when they grew up and fell in love.

"Ah! Holy—Grant!" she moaned, pushing further into her husband's lips. "Feels—good!"

As soon as she went crazy, he _really_ went to work, plunging his mouth and tongue relentlessly in her. She dug her nails into his back, but he didn't mind. He was too focused on her pants, sighs and attempts to stifle even louder sounds. Faster and faster he went, savoring her unique taste, until her body started shuddering—

"God—I—can't—I'm gonna…" Whatever she had to say was lost in a sea of gibberish as the shudders hit and the pleasure wracked her nerves. Her hips rocked and spasmed, and her walls clamped shut around Grant's mouth. He kept at it, though, eating her out like he hadn't eaten in days. Now, she was positively pulsing, the shudders increasing manifold, her breaths heavy. Nonsensical jumble stumbled from her lips, her voice low, which further stimulated his feeding frenzy. He licked and lapped and sucked till she was seconds from unraveling, and after one long, sensuous lick, he stopped altogether and withdrew.

Leni's breath came out in jerks. "Oh, Grant," she murmured, over and over. She tasted herself on Grant's lips as she kissed them deeply. And as she braced herself for the union of their bodies, she sensed her breath coming faster and faster—

At first, she thought that the sound was the kids' alarm going off. Then, she realized that it was too brief to be an alarm.

"Is that your Facebook?" she asked.

"Yup. I'll make this quick," he assured her, kissing her slowly between her breasts before reluctantly heading over to his computer to check his Facebook notifications.

Closing her eyes and fondling herself, Leni heard Grant click a few times—and then gasp with rage and disbelief.

"WTF?!" he growled.

It was as if she'd stepped into a cold bath. Leni's eyes snapped open, and she joined her husband at the computer. "What is it?" she asked.

Then, she looked at the computer screen, and when she saw the two photos—

She swore in German. "I don't believe this!" she cried. "This—this is [ _bleep_ ]-ed up! I'm gonna call someone about this!"

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

In the Training Room, Luigi was in the throes of a morning workout when his phone buzzed. Briefly stepping away from the Sandbag he was pounding, he paused his music and saw that Grant had messaged him via the Messenger app. He opened the thumbnail, and his eyes widened.

"Someone just tagged me in these photos," said the message, and below it was the photos in question.

Luigi turned greener than his cap, dove for the nearest trash can and puked.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

After he'd wiped his mouth, Luigi steamrolled into one of the lounges, where some of his friends were relaxing before the day's first bouts.

"Luigi?" asked Mario, seeing the stormy expression on his younger twin's face.

"You guys have got to see what these [ _bleeps_ ] have done!" snapped the man in green, holding up his phone for all to see. "This time, they've taken it way too far!"

The color drained from everyone's faces as they peered closely at the Facebook post.

"Mamma F—er!" Mario exclaimed in utter shock and disgust.

"You've gotta be [ _bleep_ ]-ing me!" shouted Falcon.

"Sweet J—s," gasped Samus.

"J—s, Mary and Joseph!" cried Peach.

"This can't be real," moaned Fox.

Zelda gaped and covered Toon Link's eyes, while Palutena attempted to shield, Ness, Kirby and the Villagers from the sight.

In that anonymous Facebook post tagging Grant, under the caption "When deadbeat finally becomes just dead", were the photos of Grant's poor father on a metal slab in the morgue and in the embalming room in the funeral home!

"Who got those pictures?" Lucina demanded. "Grant certainly didn't take them?"

"Who in the Underworld would want to do that to someone?" wailed Pit.

"And why did the site allow something like this to be posted?!" Zelda wanted to know. "We gotta report this before it spreads!"

"It's too late," Link gravely announced as he checked his laptop. "It's already been posted to Miiverse!"

The lounge erupted in curses and blasphemes.

Corrin's eyes flashed. "I will _maul_ whoever did this!" he growled.

"What's going on in here?" asked Master Core as he floated into the room.

"Master Core, thank goodness!" cried Fox. "It's—it's starting again."

"What is?" asked MC, already knowing the answer.

"My friend, Grant, he—he…" Luigi began.

Shakily, he showed MC the Facebook post. The true final boss of the tournament felt his breakfast coming back up.

"God Almighty," he managed to say, crossing himself.

 **Please read and review.**


	11. Point of No Return?

**Point of No Return?**

 **TW: Graphic violence toward the end**

"It's abominable!" shouted Master Hand as his father showed him the Facebook post. "I thought they learned something from last year's tribunal and civil suit!"

"So did I," Luigi said softly.

The three of them sat in Master Hand's office, struggling to comprehend the disrespectful post about Grant's father.

"I don't know about you, but I think someone leaked those photos," said Master Core.

"Who? And why?" demanded Master Hand.

"Maybe one of Grant's bullies decided to stoop lower," postulated Luigi. "They just don't know when to stop."

"No, they don't," Master said, disgust. "L, I'm truly sorry about this. My old man and I are launching an investigation of this matter, effective immediately."

Luigi smiled wanly. "Thank you, Master Hand."

"Are you gonna be okay?" asked MC.

"I'll do my best," promised Luigi, "but it's Grant I'm worried about the most. I—I need to go check on him. God knows what this is doing to him."

"Go," Master said softly. "You're excused from the morning's matches, but if you return early, I'll still have them open."

Luigi nodded and solemnly exited the office.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Luigi drove to Grant's place faster than he'd ever driven in his life, speed laws be d—ned. He jumped out of the car and raced to the front door.

Leni answered before he could knock. "I knew you'd come," she said, relieved.

"How is he?" Luigi asked, worriedly.

Leni smiled sadly. "This—wrecked him. I never thought…" She drew a deep breath. _Keep it together, Leni—you need to be strong for your husband and kids._ "He managed to calm down a little. Follow me, please."

Leni and Luigi headed up to the master bedroom, where Grant sat, watching a football game without paying much attention.

"Grant," said Luigi.

The salesman turned his head. "Luigi!" he cried.

"I'm so sorry, Grant," Luigi said quietly. "My friends and I saw the Facebook post—and now it's all over Miiverse."

The plumber stepped closer, and he now saw that Grant had been crying.

"Why?" asked Grant, in a broken voice.

"I wish I knew," replied Luigi, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"You should see the comments," sniffled Grant. "They should be disgusted, but instead, they're laughing at me like hyenas! Have they any self-respect?"

"I guess not," said Luigi. "Otherwise, they wouldn't be doing it."

He opened his arms, and Grant moved into them.

"It's all falling apart," hiccupped Grant. "It's all falling apart."

He clung to Luigi like a lifeline, and he was a lifeline, keeping these monsters from dragging him under.

" _Sono qui_ , Grant," Luigi whispered gently. " _Sono qui_."

Grant sobbed. "Don't leave me, Luigi."

"Of course not," said Luigi.

"I knew from the beginning that no matter what turns my life took, it was you, Luigi Mario, who would save me—and so you have. Thank God for you!" His sobs seemed to rip Luigi's heart straight from his chest.

"Shh," Luigi shushed his new friend. "It's gonna be okay. Master Hand is gonna find those guys. And they'll probably get into trouble for posting pictures of a deceased person. Big trouble." He gave Grant a tender squeeze. "I'll never let go. I promise."

"If you need some time to process this, then I'll pick up the kids from school," offered Leni. Grant smiled gratefully at her.

"You can call in sick for a few days, too," she continued. "I'm sure they'll understand."

"Nah, I'll be fine." Grant managed a smile. "Doing something I love will make me feel better. Luigi—spend the morning with me?"

Luigi nodded. "Absolutely."

And there was the unspoken understanding that they'd take further action—tonight.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Shortly before lunch, Master Hand called an emergency assembly in the auditorium. As the Smashers filed in, they knew that the Hand of Creation wasn't going to offer good news. And they had a hunch of what the assembly was going to be about.

Master Hand hovered before them, watching as they settled down. When he was sure he had their attention, he spoke.

"Good afternoon, Smashers," he boomed. "I suppose you all know why I called this assembly."

The Smashers exchanged looks.

"This morning," Master Hand went on, "a deplorable, despicable and repugnant display was posted on Facebook, and then on Miiverse. I'm talking, of course, about _this post_." He projected the offending photos onto the screen behind him.

Gasps and murmurs arose. The Smashers swore under their breath and crossed themselves.

"The only explanation for this is that someone leaked these photos," said Master, "and if the guilty party is in this room, it would be wise to step forward now. Because you know who you are, and you know what you did."

"Why would any of us do that?" asked Cloud.

"We just met Grant, and he's a nice guy," Ryu chimed in. "We'd never hurt him!"

"He's right, you know," said Falcon. "We learned our lesson after last year's Miiverse debacle!"

"It certainly wasn't me!" someone in the back piped up. "Morgues and funeral homes give me nightmares!"

"And don't look at me!" Samus stated hotly. "I'm an orphan, for God's sake!"

"Besides, we know nothing about Grant's father—except what the guy told us about him!" said Fox. "The culprit has to be among his tormentors!"

Heatedly, the rest of the Smashers pleaded their innocence until Master Hand silenced them with a gesture.

"Okay," he said. "I believe you all. I also believe that you've learned from last year's incident. But this investigation remains ongoing. Master Core and I shall be watching you extremely closely, and if we find that any of you have so much as entertained the idea of using social media as a torture tool, then there won't be a warning. You'll be out of this tournament before you can say 'Nintendo Switch'. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Master Hand," the Smashers said quickly.

"You are dismissed," said Master, "and remember, if you see something, say something."

The Smashers were all too eager to file out of the auditorium and into the cafeteria.

That was when they realized that Luigi's eyes had been on them the entire time—

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Giulia stood in the mirror, fiddling with the last buttons of her dress blues. The collar was stiff and starchy, as always. But hey, at least she looked professional. As she eased on her white gloves, she couldn't help but think about Luigi. He was trying so hard to hold it together, but would this latest stunt be his undoing? Would his reaction confirm her suspicions that he was behind the strange fates of these men?

The click of high heels made her turn her head. She smiled at the angular-faced woman with sleek, shoulder-length black hair and light green eyes that could look through even the most hardened perps.

"It's almost time, Giulia," said Captain Cecilla Quinn.

"Roger," said Giulia, straightening out her skirt. "Hey, Cap'n—do you think this'll work?"

"I'm 99.999% sure this will work," Cecilla said smartly. "It's time to show the world that the Internet isn't something to abuse."

"Last I checked, people are working hard to have that post removed," said Giulia, "but I fear it's too late. It's probably everywhere by now."

"But if we encourage the public to help us identify the culprit, we'll discourage future acts such as these," Cecilla said optimistically. "They're watching us to see how we're gonna handle the situation."

"Especially two of them," mused Giulia.

"Grant and Luigi," murmured Cecilla. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," said Giulia, somewhat surprised.

"You really think they're behind—that?" That wasn't a question, either.

"I—don't know. I'm not supposed to give out information disclosed in the support group. It's like a circle of trust."

"If you were in their positions," challenged Cecilla, "then would you do the same thing?"

"Probably," Giulia said slowly, "but then I wouldn't be a police officer, would I? I'd probably be locked up in some maximum security facility away from civilization."

"Do you still feel anger at what those nasty people did to your sister?"

"Yes, I do."

"Then you must understand how Grant feels, right?"

"Yeah. Definitely."

"If they'd leaked the picture of Bella, on her bedroom floor with her stomach and wrists slashed, then what would you have done?"

" _Dio_. I would've been so furious. I would've been out for blood. Once I found the guilty party or parties—I seriously doubt that they'd escape from me alive."

Cecilla allowed a "told-you-so" twinkle to come to her eye. She'd come to care for Giulia like a younger sister, or perhaps the daughter she never had. Ever since that fateful day with Bella, Cecilla had become the younger officer's rock and her mentor. It was she who recommended Dr. Thorpe's support group to her. But ever since they'd taken on this bizarre case, the captain was determined to steer Giulia clear of infested waters.

"Giulia—are you sure you're ready to handle a case like this?" asked Cecilla. "Because you can take your time."

"I'm good," Giulia assured her. "Better here than sitting around at home."

Together, the two police officers emerged into the daylight and the swarming press.

Cecilla squared her shoulders as she stepped to the waiting podium and stared into the sea of news cameras, photographers and reporters. Giulia flanked her on the left, encouraging her.

"Early this morning," began Cecilla, "photos of a man's deceased father, who recently took his own life, were anonymously posted to Facebook, and later to Miiverse. On behalf of the Smashville Police Department, I would like to express my sincere apology to the victim of this cruel stunt. I would also like to express my outrage and disgust at what can be considered a shameless act of desecration, disrespect and sacrilege. This department does not condone blatant harassment or cyberbullying, and will do what they can to uncover the culprits. I am offering a generous reward of 200,000G to those providing information which may lead us to the perps. If you know or think you know anyone responsible for this unspeakable crime, please, call the number on your screen as soon as you can. Remember—if you see something, say something. We will not be taking any questions from the press at this time. Thank you."

As reporters jostled and shouted, Cecilla turned to look at Giulia, who stood there, beaming.

"We'll get a lead," the Italian-American said confidently. "They can't hide from this forever."

Cecilla nodded. "It won't be long before they start gloating about it. Then, we'll have them."

If only they knew that a certain plumber and a certain flashlight salesman had other plans—

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 _ **Later that night…**_

The man woke up at something hot being pressed against his skin. Yowling, his eyes shot open, and he found himself staring into two livid faces.

"Who are you people?!" he demanded.

"We'll ask the questions here," snapped the man in green, reheating the poker and pressing it back into the man's chest, harder this time.

The man being branded was also bound, hand and foot, to a steel chair. He was completely naked, his package dangling from a small circular cut in the seat of the chair. The room the three were in was lit only by moonlight, and the bound man could see many varieties of tools neatly arranged on trays around him.

The third man came forward, his voice deceptively gentle. "Do you recognize me, my good man?" he asked.

The bound man blinked. "Grant?" he gasped.

"The one and only," smiled Grant, "and this is my new friend, Luigi. And we have a few questions for you."

The bound man shrugged. "Ask away," he snorted. "It's not like I have a choice."

"That's right," Luigi said tightly. "You don't."

Grant went over to a tray and picked up a long, skinny knife. "I guess you've heard the news," he said, walking back toward the man.

"What news?"

Like a flash, Grant darted in and drew the knife from the man's right shoulder to his right hip. The man hissed in agony.

"The news about my father," snapped Grant.

"Like you care about him," snarked the man. "He left you to fend for yourself, and when he couldn't handle that fact after these long years, he decided to take the easy way out."

"So, you _have_ heard the news," cooed Grant, again carving away at the flesh on the man's upper torso.

"What's that to you?" snarled the man.

"Someone decided to post pictures of my father's body online," Grant told him, cleaning the knife, "with the caption 'When deadbeat finally becomes dead', or something along those lines. Sound familiar?"

"No."

"Which leads into the next question," said Grant. "Who posted those photos on Facebook?"

"How should I know?" challenged the man.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Grant went on. "You certainly had a penchant for using social media against me."

"I swear, I've never seen those photos before in my life!" cried the man.

 _Crack._ Grant's fist met his face with rock-hard force. "You're lying," he said calmly.

"No, I'm not! I have no idea who it was!" argued the man.

 _Crack. Crack._ "I'm not stupid. I know that it was either you or one of your friends responsible for this. Tell us now or suffer the consequences."

The man spit in his face. "Burn in the flames," he growled.

Grant didn't say anything. Instead, he lit into the man, sending volleys of punches into his face and body until the bound one slumped in the chair, blood pouring out of his mouth and nose and down his face.

Then, the man felt heat near his package.

"You can't fool us," said Grant. "We'll get the truth out of you."

"Grant, I swear! You have the wrong person?"

"Oh? Then who is the right one?" Luigi demanded, inching the poker closer.

"I told you, I don't know! I didn't even know the photos were gonna be leaked—AAAAAHHHH!"

Harshly, Luigi pressed the poker against the man's package. "So, you admit it!" he barked.

"Wait—what?"

"You just said that you didn't know the photos would be leaked," said Luigi, "so you _were_ involved in this, weren't you? Weren't you?!" He pressed the poker in deeper, and the man screamed.

Luigi straightened, stuck the pointy end of the poker into the man's chest and then dragged it past his navel. He continued to cut along the man's body as the stench of burning flesh suffused the room. Blood rolled off the man and dripped into a puddle on the floor beneath him.

"Oh, God! Oh, God!" roared the man.

"I'm losing my patience," warned Grant.

"We're gonna get the name sooner or later," Luigi chimed in, dragging the poker up the man's beaten face, "so it might as well be sooner."

"Please! It was just meant to be a prank!" pleaded the man.

"Well, do you see us laughing?" asked Luigi, holding the poker to the man's eye. "Do you?"

The man started to blubber. "You should be happy he's gone, Grant," he sniffled. "No more parents, telling you what do to and how to do it. Finally, freedom to live your own life."

"Happy? I'm barely holding it together!" yelled Grant. "My parents knew what was best for me, and you took them—just like you and your buddies took, took and took from me while I was growing up! Now answer the question—whose idea was this?!"

"Who knows?! Who cares?!" blurted the man.

"We do," said Luigi, jamming the poker into the man's eye. "The other eye is next, so it's time to spill."

"I'm telling you, I don't know anything!" howled the man.

So, Luigi impaled the other eye. "I wonder what should go next?" he asked.

He gripped the man's hand and drove the poker through his fingers before doing the same to his wrist and repeating with the other hand. Luigi cut the man's kneecaps, his arms and legs, and then touched a fiery finger to it, making it glow red hot.

"We're going easy on you right now," said Luigi as he stepped behind the man. "It's only gonna get worse if you don't name names." He prodded it against the man's lower back and then his opening—

"Why? Why are you doing this?" wailed the man.

"That's what I used to ask you," Grant said evenly. "Last chance—who uploaded the photos to Facebook?"

"Grant, please…"

Luigi thrust the poker in and savagely twisted it, causing the man to scream and thrash against the chair. It was as if fire and brimstone had shot into his body. He began to sweat and tremble as Luigi thrust the poker again and again, blood and tissue leaking out until the man was certain that he was tearing apart from the inside. Bloody drool seeped out of his mouth, and his bladder released, the warm liquid streaming onto the floor.

"Hey—how about I snap a photo of you like this, post it on Facebook, and see how _you_ like it?" growled Grant, kicking the man in his trunk several times. "You know, I'm tempted to do that. But that wouldn't make me any better than you, would it?"

Luigi jammed the poker in deep and twisted it once—twice—three times—until the man finally had enough.

"Okay!" he screamed. "Okay! I'll tell you everything!"

"Well?" prompted Luigi.

"It was my friends' idea, and the funeral director was in on it, too!" wailed the man. "You can ask them yourself!"

"Oh, we will," promised Grant. "Count on it."

"Who are they, my friend?" asked Luigi.

"You're no friend of mine," spat the man.

Pain exploded in his lower extremities.

"Who—are—they?" Luigi demanded forcefully. "Who are the friends who suggested this 'idea'?"

"L," gasped Grant.

"What?"

"I think I recognize the funeral director now," realized Grant. "As we were leaving, I caught the cold smirk on his face."

"Wow. Who is he?" asked Luigi.

"He's nobody, I swear!" choked out the man.

Luigi clubbed the man's extremities, harder this time. "Nobody asked you," he growled.

"He's been a bug in my hair since kindergarten," explained Grant. "His name is Gus."

"Gus," said Luigi. He swung back to glare at the bound man. "Does that name ring any bells?" he asked.

"No," the man said, too quickly.

Luigi slammed the short, thick baton against the man's package, harder and harder than ever.

"Is he related to these friends of yours?" he asked with each slam. "Huh? Is he?"

This was killing the man. Yet even as the blows grew to unbearable, he refused to give his secret away.

"Very well," Luigi said after a while, dropping the baton. "If you won't tell us anything, then maybe the funeral director will."

"Fine—you win," groaned the man. "Gus and I held secret meetings in the days following your parents' death. That's how we got the idea. Then, we all took pictures of your dad in the morgue and later in the funeral home. We put our little plan into action when you least expected it." He laughed painfully. "Serves you right, _dork_!"

Jaw clenched, Luigi marched over, cut the man loose and shoved him to the ground, punching and kicking him over and over till he went limp.

The plumber took a few breaths and then turned to Grant. "Looks like we have work to do," he said with a smile.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

As the days and weeks went by, more men disappeared and then reappeared under mysterious circumstances. And as this investigation heated up once more, it eclipsed the investigation into the identity of the Facebook poster. Now, these men turned up in more horrific conditions. Branded and burned with fireplace pokers. Hair chopped off. Eyebrows and beards singed. Bruised and beaten over most of their bodies. Eyes punctured or gouged out. Sliced and stabbed repeatedly. Fingers, toes or both cut off. Tattooed with incriminating messages. And more things, things not fit for print. Strangely, the tattoos indirectly referred to the Facebook post, which further aroused Giulia's suspicions, and eventually Val's. But the latter was still willing to give his friend the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps it was just coincidence. Perhaps it was someone close to Luigi or Grant, plunged off the deep end. The public seemed to support these mysterious vigilantes, for they never offered anonymous tips to the police regarding them. It was as if they _knew_ something—

Finally, close to a month and a half after the Facebook post, the investigation was dropped due to lack of evidence.

Little did they know, two civilians had already solved the case.

 **Translation: I'm here.**

 **Please R &R.**


	12. Interlude: Doctor, Doctor

**Doctor, Doctor**

 **Here's a little background and insight from our three good doctors!**

 ** _Dr. Mario's POV_**

 **Thank God, the rain has finally cleared up! It's perfect weather for an informal conference with two of my trusted colleagues!**

 **The three of us, me, Kristy and Emily, sit at a picnic bench, chowing down on some cheap Chinese and discussing our rather interesting case.**

 **I was the first to get involved. From the day of that fateful discussion in my office, I knew I could understand Luigi the way he understood me. If I'd looked harder, then maybe I would've seen myself in him. Like the way he's exerted himself in his matches. The dark looks he shoots opponents. And his fiery posts on Smash's social media pages over the years. I, too, have become an eloquent voice on our blogs, especially during the Melee years when this clone garbage started up. After Luigi talked some sense into me, I used that blog to give the jeering audience a piece of my mind. And yes—I've looked at Melee's tier list and felt scorching anger shoot up my soul. I've understood why Luigi took one of Jigglypuff's black markers to it. But it wasn't my tier ranking which painted a target on my back. It was my status as a clone.**

 **When I returned in 2014, I had no idea Luigi had taken such a dark turn. I thought that he'd used the kart race that summer to let off his steam. But nay. It opened the floodgates to him finally giving in to those fantasies. First by thrashing Sandbags at night, and then by picking off the Smashers who've wronged him. The business with Stuart Bennigan and his subsequent confession to Master Hand was supposed to be the first steps toward healing, but those dogs piled right back on him when Daisy lost her bid to become a Smasher! This time, the bullying escalated to the unthinkable—plushie burnings, property defacement, physical harassment of Luigi and Daisy's fans, the mess with Koopa and Spike and his cronies, and finally the revelation of Project Nerf and Operation Ballot Box, spearheaded by Smashers once considered Luigi's friends. And last but not least was the corruption at the top involving our not-so-lamented former financier and the gloved hand whose name I won't mention.**

 **After hearing about Luigi's rampage in New York, I knew I had to bring Kristy, my mentee, into the case. She was so sensitive and empathetic, and she started off as a youth counselor. Luigi agreeing to see a psychiatrist was the icing on the cake. I made the call and asked Kristy to come to the Smash World and help an old friend of mine, and she quickly agreed. She can walk into a room and bring her warmth and tenderness to her patients. She certainly didn't earn those accolades for her gorgeous looks, you know. And so far, she's lived up to expectation. Pulling Luigi back from the brink of self-destruction and making the concept of forgiveness and moving on more palatable to him. Wow. She's a superstar!**

 **Since we've teamed together, we've caught up with the other's lives. I'm surprised how she deciphers me. I didn't have to air my concerns about my case for her to address them. She's also not afraid to call me out on certain things, such as stifling how much Luigi's case affects me. I feel like I can share my deepest, darkest secrets with Kristy, which I did one memorable Saturday morning over breakfast. Now that she's at my side, I worry less about being swamped by memories or reigniting my own sadistic fantasies.**

 **Then, we have Emily. Young, blonde and specializing in group therapy. She's revolutionized group therapy in the Smash World. For instead of simply sitting around talking, she encourages patients to tap into their creative juices to further express themselves. Artwork—painting, sculpting, drawing, collages. Playing instruments. Dancing. And now, she's proposing asking her patients to make short films or online videos. She also asks engaging questions, such as how past situations would have panned out if patients had used assertion rather than aggression. After each session, she ecstatically reports back to us. And she encourages other group therapists to try her methods. Her notes, findings and proposals have been complied into one huge dissertation she has yet to publish. What's holding her back? Nerves? The first time I published a paper, I was practically sweating onto the pages. But despite two initial rejections, it was worth it. I make sure to submit papers for medical journals at least once a month.**

 **And so, here is a rare treat. Sitting in Smash Park, flanked with two doctors I trust and admire, sharing hypotheses, findings, proposals and cheap Chinese with them.**

 **I am Dr. Mario. She is Dr. Kristy Park.** _ **She**_ **is Dr. Emily Thorpe.**

 **And we are saving lives.**

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 _ **Dr. Park's POV**_

 **In my years of practicing psychiatry, I have never stumbled upon a case like Luigi's. His is a story of trial, tribulation and triumph. Here is a man regrettably cast into the sidekick role and is picked on and ostracized because of it. His pleas are constantly ignored, and fate seems to mock him by trying to keep him contained in his assigned role. A secret character in the first three Smash tournaments. Last place on a tier list. Condemned as a coward and as a nobody. Nerfed in an update patch. No wonder then, is his psyche a bloody mess. Tired of calling for help, he decided to help himself, unleashing his pain and rage on an unsuspecting world. But since the world is starting to pay attention, he's starting to overcome, and this is where the triumph comes in.**

 **I like the interaction between Luigi and Dr. Mario. Through that interaction, I saw the parallels between their situations. I saw the lingering pain in Dr. Mario's eyes—the "I've been there before" look on his face. My hunches simply grew and grew until finally, I couldn't take it anymore and confronted him. He confirmed my suspicions—Luigi's experiences have dredged up recollections of my mentor's experiences. I was so worried for his emotional and spiritual health that I was ecstatic when we decided to work together. I can serve as a check-and-balance for Dr. Mario, enabling him to look at the case through unbiased eyes.**

 **Who knew that my mentor was bullied? In my eyes, he's been strong, smart, resourceful and revered. Why would anyone revile him over being a "clone"? I can understand why he's kept this face hidden from me. He doesn't want to seem pathetic in my eyes. But now that he's unveiled that part of his past, he's even stronger to me. Doctors, as you may know, can be the worst patients. They want to try and handle things on their own. But bullying—is something you can't handle on your own. You need backup and moral support. And that's what I could've given Dr. Mario. Maybe those violent fantasies wouldn't have engendered in the dark recesses of his mind. Maybe his scalpels wouldn't have tempted him so. Maybe—**

 **Maybe Luigi wouldn't have helped him. Dr. Mario withholding that information from me until now is a double-edged sword. Because Luigi has experience on his side. He can see through the layers Dr. M has put up. I'm glad he gave my mentor a good talking-to that day in the doctor's office back in 2001. Because if he hadn't, he would've cocooned himself and eventually pushed people away.**

 **Now, it's Dr. M's turn to see through Luigi's layers. It's his turn to give L a good talking-to. It's his turn to keep Luigi from estranging himself from his friends and comrades. It's his turn to tap into his experience with wrestling against fantasies of vengeance to repulse Luigi from that path. And it's my turn to bring my best therapy skills to the table.**

 **I am Dr. Kristy Park. He is Dr. Mario.**

 **And we are saving lives.**

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 _ **Dr. Thorpe's POV**_

 **When I was still in medical school, I discovered that I performed my best in groups. That's why I changed my career path from a physical therapist to a group counselor.**

 **I cut my teeth in children's summer camps across the Eastern Seaboard. My bosses will tell you about the numerous times I helped those youngsters put aside their differences and work together to solve a crisis. I introduced the concepts of dialogue, mediation and arbitration to neutralize feuds and quarrels. It was a superior at one such summer camp who pointed me in the direction of professional group counseling.**

 **After the summer camps, I narrowed my field of expertise to crisis counseling and conflict resolution. I read and researched about widespread bullying, from simple schoolyard teasing to cyberbullying, and I knew I had what it took to fight it. Thus, my support group for those affected by the bullying was born. I welcome patients of all ages, genders, races, ethnicities, religious backgrounds and sexual orientations. Of course, patients under 18 need parental consent. Instead of meeting in an office, we convene in relaxed settings like community centers, with plenty of snacks to go around. As the support group grew, I decided to experiment. I've encouraged my patients to** _ **show**_ **me as well as tell me. I want them to share with the other group members, so strength can be shared. Often, I "assign" homework, mainly short essays answering tough questions. I was impressed by the responses to my question regarding assertion vs. aggression. Which begs another query—why use aggression in the first place?**

 **I'm good friends with Dr. Park. As soon as I left the summer camps behind, I stumbled upon her clinic. The next day, I came in for a job interview, where I pitched my ideas of group therapy to her. I remember my first day there. I'd brought together a group of friends who'd had a falling-out and applied the techniques I'd perfected from the summer camps. These friends were stubborn at first, but eventually, I started getting through to them. Within a week, they all had reconciled.**

 **Then, I brought in a series of married couples close to divorcing, eventually helping them all get their relationships back on track. From there, it just ballooned. Sworn enemies were sent my way, and they departed my care as best friends. People about to plunge off the deep end came to me for help, and I saved them from drowning. I also brought together people trying to recover from traumatic events and noticed how they fed off each other's strength.**

 **After discovering how I encouraged a healing atmosphere, I turned my focus to relentlessly bullied folk and organized them into my support group. As it blossomed, I actively communicated with my colleagues regarding my methods, hoping for multiple opinions. I tweaked my approaches based on my intuition, along with my colleagues' suggestions. Especially Dr. Park's.**

 **Last year, her mentor, Dr. Mario, brought her to the Smash World, and she took me with her. I've met Dr. Mario at many medical conferences, and I love his robust energy. Dr. Mario told us that a Smasher was in desperate need of our help, and who were we to say "no"? Which led to my introduction to the mustachioed man in green—Luigi.**

 **Luigi has become the light of my support group. His situation was so—extreme—yet look at how much strength he lends to the others? During our first meetings, he told us that in 1999, he comforted the Smashers placed on the bottom tier rather than vice versa. He's formed instant rapports with his fellow patients and instantly accepted newcomers. The answers he gives are by far the most engaging. And although the advice he tends to give raises an eyebrow, he at least helps everyone else forget their problems—for a while.**

 **After observing his latest artwork—with the fox and the masked man and the shoe-grinding—I have another challenge for my patients. What if they bring someone who wronged them in the past, so they can say what needed to be said? What if I call my old conflict resolution skills into action? What if dialogue between the transgressed and the repentant transgressor accelerates the healing process?**

 **It's among the things I'm discussing right now with Dr. Mario and Dr. Park over cheap Chinese. At last, we've gotten together, and we're pooling our resources to see how we can better help Luigi. We talk about the memories that swim into his consciousness during his matches. We talk about his tendency toward vengeance and aggression. We talk about how he does artwork, dances or plays the piano. We talk about his beatdown of Sandbags. We talk about the turbulent relationship between the Mario Bros, the shoe incident at that tennis match, the bizarre Final Smash in Brawl and about the fox and the masked man. I cautiously propose broaching the subject with those two—first in a two-on-two session with Drs. Mario and Park, and finally in a group session with me. We'll have to see how they respond to it, for we know they're trying to forget.**

 **And finally, there's Grant, the salesman. His is an especially tragic case. Losing his parents, and even then, his tormentors aren't letting up! We've learned about the Facebook post and how its spread despite its removal; it's probably being made into a meme as we speak! And the fact that the funeral director, who has skipped town like the coward he is, was in on it makes me want to vomit! If Grant's psyche was already fragile when he first came to me, then imagine its current state. I sense the same dark temptations which used to plague Luigi and Dr. M, and there's another uneasy feeling. Like he's hiding something. Like Luigi's hiding something, as well. From day one, they've been buddy-buddy with each other. But something's nagging at me. Warning me that there's a twisted side to their friendship.**

 **But we chastise ourselves for thinking so negatively. Overall, Luigi has made progress! And he's helping Grant past his own personal Hell. Not to mention that L, Eric, Giulia and Caroline, among the other support group members, have volunteered to accompany Grant at his parents' service.**

 **Nope, my colleagues and I have nothing to worry about.**

 **I am Dr. Emily Thorpe. She is Dr. Kristy Park. He is Dr. Mario.**

 **And we are saving lives.**

* * *

 **Whoever gets the reference gets an Internet cookie!**

 **Please R &R.**


	13. Close to Normal

**Close to Normal**

 **The calm before the storm...**

"Noooo!" wailed Alex.

Luigi draped an arm around the kid. "You were actually pretty good back there," he said.

Alex pouted. "That was the fifth time you've beaten me!" he whined.

The two of them sat at the Wii U console in Grant's house, playing Smash. Alex was Captain Falcon, and Luigi played as himself. So far, Luigi had absolutely smoked his younger opponent.

"People used to beat me, too," Luigi told Alex, "but you know why I'm so good?"

"Why?"

"I practice often. And maybe if you keep practicing, you'll beat me one day."

Alex grinned, his saltiness gone. "Thanks, L! I feel better now."

Luigi set his controller down and flexed his fingers. "All right. I think that's enough video games for one day, don't you think?"

Alex rolled his eyes. "You sound like my dad."

"Your dad's a smart man," mused Luigi, "and he really cares about you. Remember that. No matter what anyone else says—your dad's number one."

"Yeah," beamed Alex. "He is. Is he gonna be okay? I mean, after Grandma and Grandpa…"

"He's grieving right now," Luigi softly explained. "You see, your grandparents really loved your dad, so he's sad that they went to Heaven."

"What can I do to help?" asked Alex. "I don't like it when he's sad."

"Just give him space when he needs it," advised Luigi. "When he's ready to talk to you, he will."

"But you'll help him get better, right?"

Luigi nodded. "Definitely. Along with his other friends."

Alex moved into Luigi's arms. "I'm happy Dad met you," he said. "You're a great guy—even if you beat me in Smash all the time."

"Thank you, Alex," said Luigi, blushing. "It's really nice to be appreciated."

"Why did someone take pictures of Grandpa like that?" murmured Alex.

"How do you know…?"

Alex took a breath. "Some kids at my school saw it and laughed at me." He pounded his fist into his palm.

"Well, did you tell your parents?"

"I wanted to, but…"

"Alex," said Luigi. "I know you don't want to make them more upset, but I guarantee that they'll help you. Besides, if those kids come near again, just ignore them. I've heard wonderful things about your grandpa."

"He used to teach my sibs and I how to play ball," sighed Alex. "He told us funny stories and spoiled us like any grandparent would. But then he kinda stopped visiting us. And now he's gone."

"No, he isn't," Luigi assured him. "He's not physically present, but he's still here. He can still hear you, and you can still talk to him. His body is gone, but his spirit remains."

"Really?"

Luigi nodded. "I also lost someone close to me. My _mamma_. I know what you and your siblings and your dad must be going through. And I was close to your age when I lost her. Mario and I nearly broke down when we first saw her like—that. But it wasn't until she was being lowered into the ground that we fell apart. I guess that's why we're so close—after our _mamma_ passed, we promised to look out for one another, no matter what the cost. We helped each other through our grief, and I can only pray that Nora, Shelia and Dan and your mom will help you through yours."

"Will you?" asked Alex.

"As much as I can," vowed Luigi.

"Your other friends—the Smashers—have they gone through this, too?"

Luigi nodded. "Some of them."

"And you helped them through it?"

"I have."

"Why are there so many bad people in this world?" questioned Alex. "People who want to make others miserable?"

"I can't answer that, I'm afraid," said Luigi. Then, he started. "You know…"

Alex nodded gravely.

"Are you—eavesdropping?"

"Yeah. And I heard that bad people did some bad things to you."

"You're being…"

"No, but some of my friends are. They're being made fun of because of their races. I wanna stand up for them."

"Do what you have to. If you're their voice, then they're less likely to fall apart," smiled Luigi.

"Thanks, L. I'll remember that."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

At the Smashville Nail Salon, Daisy and Nora sat, enjoying twin mani-pedis and sipping strawberry lemonade.

"It's nice of you to do this, Your Highness," said Nora.

"Thanks. And you can call me Daisy."

"Daisy—what's it like to be in love?" asked Nora.

"I'll see if I can explain the feeling," replied Daisy. "It's like—time stopping except for you and the person you've fallen in love with. Your heart speeds up. Your words lock in your throat. Your other problems suddenly don't seem so bad. And hearts come bursting out of you when you lock eyes and touch."

"When did you find out Luigi was The One?"

Daisy smiled. "I just knew. I came to the MK after recovering from what Tatanga did to me and took an interest in the many sporting events they have. During one of the golf tournaments, I volunteered as a caddy, and that's when I met L. He was so—handsome. A little shy and clumsy, yes, but also—funny and sensitive. The moment we locked eyes, I just felt this—connection. He was blushing, and muttering, but when he was about to tee off for the last hole, he worked up the courage to say that he kinda liked me. We partnered up for some more sports, and our first date was shortly after the first Smash tournament."

"Oh—that is so romantic!" gushed Nora. "What about when—um—you know..." She looked down and blushed.

"Oh, that?" Daisy chuckled. "We waited quite a few years before _that_ happened. Trust me, Nora, you'll never forget your first time with The One. He was so—tender and loving and gentle."

"Did it hurt?"

"Nope. He made sure of that." She raised an eyebrow. "Say—have you met someone?"

"No," Nora said quickly.

"I was wondering because you seem curious about this sort of thing."

"I just wanna know what to expect when it happens," shrugged Nora.

"Be honest with me. You have your eye on boys, don't you?"

Nora sighed. "Well, there _is_ this one boy in my Geometry class who's kinda cute. But I don't know if he's—The One."

"Hey," Daisy said softly. "You're still young. Perhaps you'll meet many boys—and later men—before finding The One."

"Dad says that he knew Mom was special when they first met," said Nora. "He says she—rescued him. I think that's so sweet! It's almost like a fairy tale, except that the princess does the rescuing."

"Trust me, a lot of princesses out there need to rescue others more than they need rescuing," nodded Daisy, thinking back to the insanity Luigi had endured and how he would've been destroyed if it weren't for her love. "Some princesses even rescue themselves."

"Mom tells me that sometimes when I feel down," murmured Nora. "Once, I asked her about the day she rescued Dad. I wanted to know if he gave her a little—what do you call it?"

"Lu calls it 'a smoochie-smoochie on the nose'," said Daisy.

"Well, I asked if he did that, and if tiny hearts came bursting out of her when he kissed her. And she told me that's exactly what happened, and that's how Alex, Dan, Shelia and I got here!" Nora said proudly.

 _She left out a hefty chunk of information,_ thought Daisy.

"That boy in your Geometry class—do you ever think about rescuing him?" asked Daisy.

Nora nodded. "Yeah. I think that would be so neat!"

"But, you know, life isn't a fairy tale," said Daisy.

"You're right about that," mused Nora, "but I have Shelia, Alex and Dan, and Mom and Dad have each other, so I think we're gonna be okay. And you're gonna be okay, because you have Luigi."

"I couldn't have said that better myself."

"I miss Grandma and Grandpa," Nora said finally. "Whenever I had a fight with Mom and Dad, one of them would encourage me to do as they said. Same as with my sis and brothers. Did you know that they'd sneak us to the water park or amusement park when Mom and Dad were at work?"

Daisy chuckled. "It's what grandparents do. And regardless of being their override, your parents miss them, too."

"I know. Dad does, especially. What do you think I should do to cheer him up?"

"This—it takes time for him to cheer up. Don't rush him, and don't push him. Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah. I think I can."

"Great. After we finish up, what do you say to getting some ice cream?"

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Meanwhile, Spirit, the border collie, was relaxing in his doghouse following an exhausting game of fetch with Grant. It was a nice doghouse, with a cute doggie bed to nap in and plenty of chew toys. In his own doggie way, Spirit could sense the grief his master was feeling over losing his parents. But he could also sense that there was more to this than grief. There was also some torment, anger and resentment. Since he had no access to a computer, Spirit had no idea of the ongoing Facebook drama. But he could tell that something—or someone—was getting on his master's nerves. Spirit could read Grant quite well since the day the flashlight salesman brought him home from the pound. When Grant was happy, Spirit was happy. When Grant was pensive, Spirit was pensive. When Grant was sad, Spirit was sad. And as Grant grieved, so did Spirit. The border collie had more in common with his master than one would think, as Spirit's previous owners weren't very nice to him. ASPCA had to remove him from the home, and he'd only been in the pound for a short while until Grant came along to show him the love, tenderness and affection he'd been denied. And as the years passed, Spirit came to discover, with his doggie intuition, that Grant had led a hard life, as well. He didn't know the specifics, but he knew people had made him upset. And anyone making his master upset made Spirit upset, too!

A high, playful "Arf!" interrupted Spirit's thoughts.

Spirit glanced up and saw the energetic ghost dog perched in front of him, tongue hanging out of his mouth, tail wagging joyfully, studying the border collie with sparkling eyes.

"Woof!" greeted Spirit.

Polterpup barked again, happy that his new canine companion was responding to him. He fished out a golden bone and plopped it in front of Spirit.

"Aroo?" asked Spirit.

"Arf! Arf, Arf, Arf!" replied Polterpup.

Cautiously, Spirit took the bone in his mouth and started to gnaw on it. Wow, it tasted amazing! It was better than the doggie treats bought at Petco once a week. And the tennis ball started getting a little tough after a while.

"Woof, woof!" Spirit yapped in thanks.

Polterpup nodded. "Arf!"

He pranced over and licked the border collie's nose, and Spirit reacted in kind.

"Arf, Arf?" asked Polterpup, offering Spirit to play with him.

Spirit seemed to think it over, and then perked up, tiredness all but forgotten. "Woof!"

It seemed that Polterpup had organized a scavenger hunt for Spirit. He'd buried golden bones all over the yard and challenged his new pal to uncover them all. The yard became permeated with happy barks as the two dogs frolicked to and fro, Spirit sniffing out the golden bones while Polterpup gave encouragement and hints. Spirit's sense of smell quickly led him to all the bones, so the two decided to play hide-and-seek, with the border collie doing the hiding and the ghost dog doing the seeking. Polterpup uncovered Spirit with ease, smothering him with licks and doggie kisses as the border collie woofed happily. It was just them and the great outdoors, having a doggone good time.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"We have to do something," Nora was saying. "I can't stand seeing him like this anymore!"

The four children sat in Nora's room, sharing cookies and milk they'd sweet-talked from Leni. But this wasn't a social get-together. The aftermath of their grandparents' passing was starting to hit them. It was in the gloomy mood their father was always in nowadays, the days when they spied him brooding or crying. It was the first time death and loss had ever tapped their innocent minds, the first time they had a harsh look at the real world. All four had also heard snippets of the Facebook stunt, courtesy of their peers at school, and were reluctant to confide to their parents what they knew. They didn't know the full details surrounding the deaths, but they knew this was hitting their father hard, and they wanted nothing more than to turn his frown upside down.

"Yeah, but didn't Luigi and Daisy say…?" started Danny.

"I know what they said!" cried Nora. "It'll be hard to cheer him up, but we have to try. We have to let him know that even though Grandma and Grandpa are gone, we're still here."

"Well, got any ideas?" asked Alex.

"How about we pool our allowance and buy him something?" suggested Shelia.

"We'll have to ask Mom first," grumbled Danny, "and furthermore, what are we gonna buy him?"

"Why buy him something when we can _make_ him something?" Nora piped up. "We have lots of arts-and-crafts stuff. Let's make him something!"

"Yeah!" cried Alex. "Let's make him something!"

"Good idea!" chirped Danny.

"Yeah, c'mon!" Shelia led the charge. "Let's do this!"

Excitedly, the kids grabbed crayons, colored pencils and paper and set to work.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Later that afternoon, Grant was seated in the den, watching TV, when he heard the soft pitter-patter of his children's feet.

He turned. "Hey, kids," he said. "What is it?"

Nervously, Danny shuffled forward. "We have something for you, Dad," he said. "We hope you like it."

Nora approached and held out a hand-drawn card. "Here you go!" she said. "We worked on it together."

Grant took the card and studied it. On the front was a well-drawn-for-their-ages picture of him, Leni, the kids and Luigi, standing in front of Peach's magnificent castle. He opened the card and read, "'Dad, you're the best! We love you bunches!" The message was illustrated with a drawing of Grant as a superhero, flying over the skyline.

"Aww—you just made my day!" cooed Grant, opening his arms.

Relieved, the four kids jumped into his lap.

Leni, who'd secretly watched from the hallway, emerged with a beaming smile on her face. "That was a sweet and touching gesture, kids," she said.

"He just seemed so sad," explained Danny.

"Yeah. We don't like seeing you sad, Dad," Shelia chimed in.

"But remember what I told you—it's okay to be sad sometimes," Grant said softly. "Your grandparents meant a lot to me, and I'm sure they meant a lot to you—even though they spoiled you rotten."

"We miss her, too," admitted Nora.

"In a few days, we're going to get together with some friends and say goodbye to them," Grant told his children, "and that's going to make me and your mom very sad. Cheering up after losing someone you love is harder than cheering up after a scraped knee or a quarrel with a friend. I appreciate you trying to lift my spirits, but if you really want me and your mom to feel better, then you'll have to give us some private time, all right?"

"Okay," chorused the kids, hugging Grant.

Leni crossed the room and joined in the group hug, kissing the top of her husband's head. "We'll always be there for you," she vowed. "Whenever you're ready, we'll have our ears open."

Grant smiled and leaned back in his chair. In the wake of his loss, there was no place he'd rather be in this moment than with his lovely wife and adorable kids. And if he ever felt like they alone couldn't keep him afloat, then his new friend, Luigi, was just a phone call away.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Late that night, Grant lay on the bed, clinging to Leni as if he was drowning, as she sat atop him, riding him like a motorcycle. His hands were firmly on her waist, his eyes on her bouncing breasts as she thrust faster and faster. Her thumbs kept time by rubbing circles on his shoulders, leaning down occasionally to kiss his lips. He groaned and growled, swiveling and grinding his hips to meet hers, swelling inside her and making her moan.

"Gaaahhh-Leni…." He breathed as his wife sped up, struggling to keep herself composed despite his size. Panting, she cupped his face in her hands and kissed him passionately, grinding herself deeper against him.

"You know—they're just worried about their father," Leni said softly as she traced his jaw, neck and chest.

"Yeah, and I appreciate that," said Grant, catching his breath, "but they're young. They've never looked death so closely in the eye before. And—they don't know the whole story yet."

"Do you think we should tell them?" asked Leni, kissing down his neck.

"Maybe when they're old enough to understand the extent of human cruelty, we can," whispered Grant.

"Sounds like a deal," nodded Leni, going back to business and running her tongue along his upper body.

It was too much for Grant. Skillfully, he rotated them so that he was atop his wife, burying himself in her and taking her as if he'd never take her again. He looked into her lustful eyes and felt so blessed; Leni was his angel—his savior! Before he met Luigi, she gave him newfound reason to life—she gave him four wonderful children and more love than a wife could ever give. She gave him hope and strength—a rock to cling to as the waters churned around him. He'd spent most of his life trapped in a castle of torment as the dogs snarled after him—until Leni had come into his life and freed him. Years after she rescued him, he'd never run out of ways to thank her—and this was by far his favorite way. Thrusting rhythmically and methodically as she buried her fingers in his back and whispered dirty words of encouragement in his ear, feeling her tighten around his girth as her body started to shudder and wrapping his lips around her domes as they continued to bounce perkily.

The pace of his thrusts increased as he felt himself reaching the end, Leni making gurgling noises from deep in her throat, still trying not to wake the kids. "Aaaaaahhhhh…." She uttered as her body spasmed some more. "God, Grant—I'm gonna…"

"Leni…" he breathed. "Don't let me go. Just don't let me go."

"I won't," she grunted. "I promise—I won't—ohhhhhh…."

And in the moment, Grant knew that whatever happened, he would always be above water.

…until he wasn't.

 **I'm back! Finals are over, and I'm free for the next week or so!**

 **Please R &R.**


	14. Floodwater

**Floodwater**

 **Get your tissues ready.**

The days passed too quickly for Grant's taste, and soon it was time for his parents' funeral. No sun shone upon the Smash World that day; instead, the sky was marked with clouds threatening rain. At 7a.m., the family woke and ate a silent breakfast before a limo service Master Core had ordered arrived to pick them up.

Grant and Leni sat in the front, while the kids sat in the back. All six wore black suits and dresses, and Shelia wore the gem necklace her grandmother had given her for her birthday. The four children understood the somberness of the situation and didn't fuss at all during the long ride to the Smash Mansion, where the service would take place.

At the front of the Smash Mansion, the Smashers, Assist Trophies and some visitors stood, watching the approaching limo. The Smash Flag, along with the flags denoting the fighters' universes, flew at half-mast. When the vehicle came to a stop, the driver got out and opened the doors for the family. Luigi, dressed his Sunday best, stepped forward to greet his friend as he emerged from the limo.

"Hey," he said softly, putting a hand on Grant's shoulder.

"Hey," Grant replied.

"You okay?" asked Luigi.

Grant shrugged. "I'm doing the best I can," he offered.

Luigi took the response as a "no" and offered his hand to Grant, who took it. The two men walked up the steps into the Smash Mansion.

Next, Leni climbed out of the limo, smoothed her dress and composed herself as Daisy emerged and took her hand.

"I'm really sorry, Leni," she said.

"Thank you," nodded Leni.

As Daisy escorted Leni inside, Nora, Alex, Dan and Shelia filed out and were met by Mario and Peach.

"It's okay," Dan said with a proud jut of his chin. "I'm gonna be strong for everyone. I promise."

Mario nodded, man-to-man, at the beyond-his-years child.

"I'm gonna be strong, too," Nora said softly. "I'm not gonna cry."

Peach took her hand. "It's okay to cry," she said reassuringly as she and her love escorted the kids inside.

The Main Hall was splendidly decorated. There were portraits and photos of the deceased, a visual chronology of the wonderful years they spent together as husband and wife and as parents to Grant. Contrary to what was rumored about the father, he was present at several birthday parties and key events in Grant's life, from the senior prom to his graduation ceremonies and his wedding. There was also the father with his buddies in the armed forces, and the mother with her friends. Instead of cheap folding chairs, there were comfortable seats for the congregation, and there were also colorful flower displays. And mounted on two tables were the caskets, the lids closed at Grant's insistence.

Grant, Leni and the kids were seated first, followed by other family members and relatives who had flown in, and then Luigi, Daisy, Mario, Peach, Yoshi, Rosalina, Corrine, DK, Diddy, Little Mac and the members of Grant's support group. The seating then continued, row by row, until everyone had a spot.

Finally, Master Core rose and situated himself at the pulpit. The room stilled as he began to speak.

"Smashers, we are gathered here today to honor the memory of two people who not only loved each other, but also loved their son unconditionally. Although I never had the privilege of meeting them, I had the privilege of meeting their offspring, and so impressed was I that I had no choice but to ease his burden by helping him say goodbye to them, along with my own son. May these two be rewarded for their generosity and sensitivity in the next life. I'm also to understand that your father served this country."

"He did," said Grant, "with pride and honor."

"Fear not. Special honors have also been arranged for him," said MC.

"Thank you, sir," said Grant.

"Grant—would you like to say a few words regarding your parents?"

Nodding, Grant rose and joined Master Core at the pulpit.

"While it is true that my mom and dad didn't get their happily ever after, they never stopped loving me. They didn't let the problems in their marriage encroach upon my well-being. They kept the divorce as clean and as amicable as possible. Both were there to see my first steps. Both were there to hear my first words. Both were there to see me off on my first day of school. Both were there to tell me not to eye some girl. Both were there to deal with my acne, my growth spurts and my rebel phase. Both were there to see me earn my high school diploma and my college degree. Both were there to offer suggestions regarding which colleges I should apply to and to support me in my career pathway. And when I fell in love, they welcomed Leni into the family like their biological daughter. They doted on my children like typical grandparents, telling stories, helping them bend the rules—they were far from the picture these senseless bullies painted of them. Especially my dad, who stood up to defend our country and nearly gave his life for it." Grant swallowed before concluding, "Mom, Dad—I love you, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed it the most, and Dad—I'm sorry I wasn't there to pull you back…"

"POYO!"

Before anyone could stop him, Kirby raced to the pulpit, tears in his eyes, a Maxim tomato clutched in his appendages.

"What is it, little guy?" asked Grant, crouching so he was at eye level with the puffball.

"Poyo!" sobbed Kirby, holding the Maxim tomato out to Grant. "Poyo, poyo poy poyoyo, poyo—p-poy-y-o!" His voice broke, and he collapsed in tears against Grant's chest.

"Kirby—I wish it was that easy, but it isn't," explained Grant. "This isn't a video game. They—don't get extra lives or continues. I had to explain it to Lu—bless his heart for trying to help. It's too late. They're—gone."

"Poy-y-o?" hiccupped Kirby.

"You're already helping—by being here," said Grant, kissing the fluffball atop his head.

Finally, the young Star Warrior pulled himself together and returned to his seat.

"I can still see them at my wedding," said Leni when it was her turn to speak. "His mom joked with me the entire time, from giving me the mock 'evil eye' during my walk down the aisle by telling me to nag and nag and never stop nagging because I'll always be right." She chuckled. "I got to dance with his dad after my first dance with Grant. I could see where he got his moves from. And during all four of my pregnancies, they always stopped by with gifts and advice, especially when I was pregnant with Alex and Dan. They helped with the baby showers and with baby-proofing. Even though they led rough lives, it didn't stop them from making others' lives easier. They were the best in-laws around. Rest in peace, Mom and Dad." She blew a kiss to the caskets before stepping down.

One by one, Nora, Shelia, Dan and Alex came up to share funny and touching stories about their grandparents, eliciting "aww's" and titters from the congregation. Then, the other members of Grant's immediate and extended families said a few words, some of them half-hearted. Luigi, especially, had a bad hunch about those other families. Their mannerism gave him the impression of vultures eyeing roadkill. But for his friend's sake, he kept silent about this.

After the family members had their turn, Lucas piped up. "Excuse me, may I say something?" he asked.

"Yes, you may, Lucas," said Master Core.

Lucas scurried to the pulpit and began. "Grant—I—I—I know this is hard. God, it's _so_ hard. Losing your parents is the worst thing that can happen to you, and especially under tragic circumstances. I watched my mom die, and then my dad fell into depression, and—and I wasn't strong enough!" He sobbed a little. "When I lost my mom, and then Claus, people told me not to cry. To 'get over it'. They tried to make me forget, but I didn't want to—I loved them so much. And I know you and your wife and kids loved your parents, too. So, I realize, if it's hard for me, then it must be extremely hard for you. I just want you to know, Grant—that there are people out there who can help you like they helped me."

"I appreciate that, Lucas," said Grant.

Master Core nodded. "Thank you for reaching out to Grant," he told the blond psychic.

After Lucas sat back down, Master Hand played a slideshow of the two deceased parents, composed with the Smashers' help. Accompanying this slideshow was a beautiful melody:

 **The little girl she said to me  
What are these things that I can see  
Each night when I come home from school  
And mama calls me in for tea**

 **Oh every night a baby dies  
And every night a mama cries  
What makes those men do what they do  
To make that person black and blue**

 **Grandpa says their happy now  
They sit with God in paradise  
With angels' wings and still somehow  
It makes me feel like ice**

 **Tell me there's a heaven  
Tell me that it's true  
Tell me there's a reason  
Why I'm seeing what I do**

 **Tell me there's a heaven  
Where all those people go  
Tell me they're all happy now  
Papa tell me that it's so**

 **So do I tell her that it's true  
That there's a place for me and you  
Where hungry children smile and say  
We wouldn't have no other way**

 **That every painful crack of bones  
Is a step along the way  
Every wrong done is a game plan  
To that great and joyful day**

 **And I'm looking at the father and the son  
And I'm looking at the mother and the daughter  
And I'm watching them in tears of pain  
And I'm watching them suffer**

 **Don't tell that little girl  
Tell me  
Tell me there's a heaven  
Tell me that it's true  
Tell me there's a reason  
Why I'm seeing what I do**

 **Tell me there's a heaven  
Where all those people go  
Tell me they're all happy now  
Papa tell me that it's so**

After the slideshow, Master Core joined his son in reading the Bible passages Grant had requested, concluding with: "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Amen."

"Amen," said the congregation.

Mii pallbearers walked in to bear the caskets outdoors, with Grant, his family and the Smashers forming the procession. Single file, they walked out into a light drizzle, the caskets loaded into a hearse while everyone else piled into the limos. Several police motorcycles were lined up in front to escort the procession.

Down the freeway they went, traffic pulling over to allow them passage, drivers removing their hats in respect. The trip was mercifully short, and the procession finished at the Smashville National Cemetery. As they exited the limos, a small group of smartly dressed Mii servicepeople snapped off crisp salutes.

As the pallbearers set the caskets onto stone tables and the congregation took their seats, the servicepeople lined up and stood at attention. On command, they raised rifles to their shoulders and fired three volleys of shots. After the last shot echoed throughout the rainy sky, one serviceperson raised a bugle to their lips and blew taps.

On the final, sorrowful note, two Mii servicepeople walked over to the flag draped over the father's casket and proceeded to delicately fold it into a neat triangle. Then, they presented it to Grant, extending their gratitude for his father's service. The grieving salesman hugged the flag to his chest as Leni draped her arms around him. Finally, each Smasher rose and placed a Smash Ball on the two caskets. Link knelt and said an old Hylian prayer for the dead, and then it was over.

Leni and Luigi had to help Grant to his feet as the congregation walked to the limos for the ride to Grant's house, where the reception would be held. And as the procession drove over a bridge, this song began to play:

 **When you're weary, feeling small  
When tears are in your eyes, I'll dry them all (all)  
I'm on your side, oh, when times get rough  
And friends just can't be found  
Like a bridge over troubled water  
I will lay me down  
Like a bridge over troubled water  
I will lay me down**

 **When you're down and out  
When you're on the street  
When evening falls so hard  
I will comfort you (ooo)  
I'll take your part, oh, when darkness comes  
And pain is all around  
Like a bridge over troubled water  
I will lay me down  
Like a bridge over troubled water  
I will lay me down**

 **Sail on silver girl  
Sail on by  
Your time has come to shine  
All your dreams are on their way  
See how they shine  
Oh, if you need a friend  
I'm sailing right behind  
Like a bridge over troubled water  
I will ease your mind  
Like a bridge over troubled water  
I will ease your mind**

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

At the reception, Grant wandered over to Lucas. "Hey," he said.

Lucas turned. "Hi, Grant."

"Thank you—for what you said at the service," said Grant. "And, y'know, if I gets too much, then I'll get you in touch with Dr. Thorpe. She can help you."

"I'm already seeing a grief counselor," said Lucas, "but thanks. I'll give you my counselor's number afterward, shall I?"

"Sure. Seriously, I can't thank you enough. A lot of people are watching out for me."

Lucas nodded. "You've been struggling with guilt over the deaths. I felt guilty, too, but Ness helped me, just like L is helping you. I have Ness, and you have Luigi. Who knows? Maybe we can be someone other grieving people can depend on."

"You're a smart kid, Lucas," smiled Grant, shaking the boy's hand.

Luigi came over, beaming at Lucas. "Thank you," he said.

"I saw him sitting there," explained Lucas. "I just couldn't let him suffer like that. I had to say something."

"When you were a mess over losing Claus and your mom, I rushed to your side," recalled Luigi. "It touched me, seeing you do the same for Grant."

Grant was then joined by Leni and the children.

"What Lucas said was kindness," said Leni. "Pure kindness. Grant and I have always taught our kids about random acts of kindness, and today, they saw why they were so valuable."

"Lucas wants to refer me to his grief counselor," said Grant.

"That's great," nodded Leni. "Lucas—when you get the chance, could you jot down the number and address for us?"

"Yes, ma'am," replied Lucas, shaking hands with the family before rejoining Ness.

"Thank you," Grant said to Luigi, "and thanks to Master Core and the other Smashers for doing this." Tears sparkled in his eyes.

"It's what we do," Luigi stated solemnly.

Grant looked over the faces of the boulders in his life. Peace began to flit through his stormy soul like a small dove. Perhaps he could end today on an optimistic note.

But seconds later, the peace would be sadistically shattered—

* * *

 **If you have lost a loved one and are struggling to hold on, please PM me!**

 **Also, write down and pass on these numbers:**

 **After Loss: 800-423-8811 (Bereavement)**

 **Compassionate Friends (death of a child): 877-969-0010**

 **SHARE (Pregnancy and infant loss): 800-821-6819**

 **Vet Med (Pet loss): 800-565-1526**

 **This chapter was relatively difficult for me to write, as I have also lost a loved one who served our country. Just know that you are not alone.**


	15. Shattered

**Shattered**

 **TW: Chapter contains disrespectful behavior at a wake as well as the desecration of a grave. Proceed with caution.**

The door slammed open, and in stumbled a drunk, disheveled stranger, a beer bottle casually swinging from his fingers. Cloudy eyes scanned the room and its occupants, a snakelike smile forming on cracked lips.

Grant turned at the sound of the stranger's entrance, blanching. "Oh, my God," he breathed. "I don't believe it."

"You know this guy?" asked Luigi.

"Unfortunately, yes," groaned Grant. "Since the second grade. I think I'm gonna be sick…"

"I'll handle this," said Leni, striding smartly toward the stranger.

"Hello, hello, hello," said the stranger. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"May I help you, sir?" Leni asked as politely as she could.

The stranger grinned. "I would like to pay my sincerest disrespect and good riddance," he said mockingly.

"Who do you think you are?" snapped Luigi, storming toward the interloper.

Grant held him back. "Don't provoke him," he cautioned. "It's what he wants."

"It was about freaking time those old dogs barked their last," snickered the stranger. "They were no good for this world, anyway! I'm looking around and seeing you all crying a river and moaning about how Grant's precious parents are dead. You should be happy they're gone, Grant! You should feel free—free from their stigma!"

"Dad—what is he talking about?" asked Alex.

"Just—don't listen to him, okay. Your grandparents were good people," said Grant.

"Were they, now?" challenged the stranger. "Or have you forgotten that they couldn't even keep it together long enough to get you to 18? What did they think this was—a Disney fairy tale?"

"What do you want, Howard?" Grant demanded of the stranger.

"I want these good people to know the truth about your parents—especially your deadbeat dad! Oh yeah—he was in love with your mommy till you came along; then, she wasn't so attractive anymore! He probably moved on to the next girl, and the next, and the next! Who's to say that you don't have a long-lost brother or sister somewhere on this continent? For all I know, he may have given you siblings from around the world! He loves making babies—but not caring for them, so that's why he took off!" Howard laughed.

"I thought you considered it below your dignity to insinuate such things—on such an occasion, too!" seethed Grant.

"Bet he didn't consider it below his dignity to walk out the front door when you were still in diapers," chortled Howard. "I know you're telling your kids that their granddaddy is an angel in Heaven, but nothing can be further from the truth. Abandoning his family and responsibilities is a sin, did you know? I bet the good Lord is administering His punishment right now!"

"Want me to get security, Grant?" asked Leni.

"I have a right to attend this service," Howard said snidely.

"You barge in here, filthy and bedraggled, roaring drunk, and cruelly insult my dead father-in-law," Leni said calmly. "Have you no shame?"

"What? You all deserve to know the truth," balked Howard. "Why are you mourning him when you should be dancing on his grave? Especially when I saw him and his ex-wife all shriveled up in their coffins—who knew anyone could age like that? I would've loved to show up right in the middle of your little cryfest and drain my snake on their corpses—but I guess it just wasn't meant to be!" He guffawed.

"You—you were at the service?" gasped Luigi.

"Yup—in a secret hiding place, watching you moan and whine and carry on! And at the cemetery, after you all had gone, I marched right up to those pits and left them a little—parting gift." He grinned savagely.

"No—you don't mean…" spluttered Grant.

"That's right, Grant. I took a nice big [ _bleep_ ] in your parents' graves—after paying off the gravediggers and the cemetery manager, of course. Serves them right for what they did in the land of the living. They never cared about you! They just wanted the alimony, the trust fund and the child support!"

Everyone gasped.

"You disgust me," spat Leni. "Get out of our house!"

"Oh, I'm not finished yet. Those little brats were spoiled by the dearly departed, you say? Sorry to shatter your innocent minds, but it was all an act. You, your gorgeous wife and your lovely kids weren't even worth the nail on their big toes, Grant! They despised you all! You were scabs and zits to them, and they couldn't wait to just pick you off and flick you all away! So, after I contributed my own—personal fertilizer—to the graves—I invited a few of my friends to come and say goodbye to your beloved parents!" Proudly, tossed a flash drive to Grant.

"What is this?" asked Grant.

"Our '[ _bleep_ ] you' to your precious parents! Rest in pieces, old dirtbags!" Howard cackled as he turned on his heel and left the house.

The living room was in stunned silence.

"They wouldn't _dream_ of doing something like this," mumbled Grant. "They wouldn't—they…"

As Leni comforted her husband, the Mario Bros whisked Nora, Alex, Shelia and Dan upstairs, away from the ruckus.

"Just stay here while we help your parents calm things down, okay?" Luigi told them.

"But what was the bad man talking about?" asked Dan.

"A load of big, fat lies," explained Mario.

The two returned downstairs in time to hear, "He's right, y'know."

It was one of Grant's relatives, one of those who'd given Luigi negative vibes at the service.

"Grant, I know you're trying to cocoon yourself from the harsh truth, but your old man was a selfish [ _bleep_ ] who took the coward's way out!" barked the relative.

"What do you know about him? You barely spoke!" snapped Grant.

"And with good reason!" spat another relative, a woman with dirty blonde hair. "It was always about him and what he wanted—and your mother, too! Always acting like the socialite, the most popular girl on the block, when she was uglier than the ugly duckling! I'm glad they're in the dirt! It's where they belong!"

"Yeah!" chimed in a few more relatives, revealing their true feelings about the deceased.

"They had you for the insurance policy!"

"They soiled everything they touched!"

"You should be ashamed of having parents like them!"

"I just bet they were leeching on their grandkids, since you were just about dry!"

Grant was boiling mad! Luigi would've torn those relatives apart if he wasn't gripping Mario's hand so tightly.

Leni was the first to react, flinging her drink into the face of the dirty blonde who'd spoken so disrespectfully. The woman dove at her with a filthy insult, and in seconds, they'd devolved into a mess of dress-ripping and hair-pulling.

The menfolk, attempting to break up the fight, only succeeded in getting more fired up as more taunts and insults were tossed Grant's way. At long last, Grant reached his limit and started throwing punches, and then it was on! Luigi broke free of Mario's hold and joined right in, punching, kicking, throwing and slamming people into walls and banisters. The wake had turned into an all-out brawl, blows flying, fingernails scratching and teeth biting as Grant and Leni sought to defend the honor of the deceased from inconsiderate relatives who only came for a chunk of the estate. As the situation grew more violent, the Smashers jumped into action to restore order as the elders pleaded for calm.

Finally, it was over. The relatives who had instigated the brawl were escorted from the property, and now everyone else was scattered about the room, tending to their wounds.

"I'm sorry," said Grant. "I'm so sorry about this."

"I'm sorry, too," sighed Leni. "I shouldn't have—I was just…"

Luigi nodded. "Tempers were really running high," he said softly.

"It takes two opposing forces to cause friction, and, well, y'know," said a remorseful relative.

"We're here to celebrate those two, not tear them down," Grant reminded everyone. "And hearing that crap Howard said…"

"Howard is a troublemaker," said another sympathetic relative. "Your father was a good man, and he loved your mother. And don't ever forget it."

"Thank you," nodded Grant.

"The kids—are they okay?" asked Leni.

"They're fine," said Mario. "We took them upstairs earlier."

"Thank God," said Leni, also relieved that they didn't see the grown-ups acting like wild animals.

"But—what's on that flash drive?" asked Luigi.

Part of him didn't want to know.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 _ **Later that night…**_

Leni could hear Grant, sobbing deeply. She felt like two lifetimes had passed since the two of them had viewed the flash drive. She would never forget the sight of those men and even a few women, doing nasty things to those open graves. Pants unzipping, multiple streams of urine tracing a parabola onto the caskets below as security looked the other way. Bags stuffed with trash being tossed into the graves. People sticking fingers down their throats and purposely barfing in the graves, and then some of them bending over and—

The women were the nastiest, pulling off their underwear and flinging them into the graves while saying mean things about the mother, along with soiled tampons and sanitary napkins. Dirty hand gestures filled the frame as their peers cheered this desecration. Leni thought she was going to be sick, but she couldn't be sick. She had to be strong for her husband and kids. If she broke down, then they'd break down with her.

"God in Heaven," she prayed, "please, have mercy on these people. Forgive them, as Grant and I forgive them ourselves."

She considered going to Grant and asking if he was all right, but Leni knew it was futile; the answer was a definite "no". Instead, she waited, laying in the bed, till the sobs subsided. Finally, Grant emerged, wearing pajama bottoms and no shirt, his face puffy. He slid into the bed with a heavy sigh, and Leni decided to act because she knew he needed her now. She wrapped her arms round his bare torso, and he softly whispered, "Thank you."

With Leni's arms around him and her body pressed against his, Grant closed his eyes and fell asleep like a baby.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Luigi couldn't sleep, still trying to wrap his mind around what he'd viewed earlier—what those sickos had done to the graves of Grant's parents. After putting him through so much suffering by driving the father to end it all and literally breaking the mother's heart, it was never enough for them! They were gobbling it up the way rats gobbled up trash in the Dumpster! Grant didn't deserve this, any of this—but what he'd seen on that flash drive was inches from once again destroying his faith in humanity! What hurt the most was that this newest emotional wound was inflicted when Grant's psyche was already fragile; for God's sake, he was already tiptoeing through a minefield, but this—this would destroy him, and Luigi knew it was inevitable. The thread supporting Grant would soon snap, one way or another, and there would be no way for him or Leni to piece him back together. Those bullies—they just didn't know when to quit, did they?!

Huffing out a breath, Luigi hopped out of bed, dressed, grabbed a sports drink and his iPhone and slipped downstairs to the Training Room. He'd already given up on getting a wink of sleep tonight.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

In Val's office, the P.I. sat with Evelyn, Giulia and Quinn, covering his mouth with his hand, as the ghastly images played out on the screen. Evelyn said nothing; she simply rested her head on her fiancé's shoulder and tangled her fingers through his hair. Next to them, Giulia clutched her cross, murmuring rapidly in Italian at the unspeakable acts before her. Beside her, the normally-composed Quinn sat, tight-lipped and still, her bright, hazel eyes hardened gems, chest heaving.

As the bullies sent up another round of laughter, Val rubbed his jaw and then massaged the bridge of his nose as Evelyn soothed him like a child. Quinn turned to Giulia, her expression fierce, and curtly ordered, "Haul their [ _bleeps_ ] in."

 **Please read and review.**


	16. Interlude: Spirals

**Spirals**

 ** _Luigi's POV_**

 **Over a week has passed since the disastrous episode at the funeral, and each day is a struggle to keep Grant from falling apart at the seams. I can't get the images of those sneering, disrespectful relatives out of my mind. Nor can I ever forget what I saw on that flash drive—the desecration of his parents' recently dug graves. They just don't know when to stop! His poor parents are barely in the ground, and they're starting in on him! Vengeance swells in my heart, but I must put Grant first. Just when I put Daisy first when she lost the Smash Ballot, before that other stuff started.**

 **We're still attending Dr. Thorpe's therapy sessions, and our fellow attendees are also reeling from what's happened. Giulia and her captain, Quinn, are working their butts off to catch the perpetrators and lock them away, where they'll never hurt anyone again. Sacrilege and desecration are serious offenses, and I'm comforted because I know Giulia is good at her job. Hopefully, the charges will stick this time, or else Grant and I are gonna have to get our hands dirty—very dirty.**

 **Eric swallows his tears as he tells us of a similar experience, except that the outburst was during the funeral service. His uncle had passed away from pancreatic cancer, and the family had arranged a beautiful service for him. The congregation had attempted to lighten the mood by telling funny stories about the deceased, and then it had happened. Someone in the middle pew had off on a profanity-filled tirade against Eric's uncle and had to be escorted from the church by security, only to reappear at the burial service and throw mudballs into the open grave as he continued to talk about what a terrible person Eric's uncle was. The grieving nephew later learned that the interloper was a former friend, and they'd fallen out because the uncle had refused to support the guy's drinking habit. Eric tried to take the high road by forgiving the man and trying to help him off the bottle, but then the man turned his attention toward the nephew, resulting in a restraining order. The last he heard of the ex-friend, he was doing hard time for felonious assault.**

 **Each of us make sympathy cards for Grant, which seem to help a little. Caroline even gives him a tulip to pin to his chest. She explains that tulips are her favorite flower, and that when he looks at that tulip, then he knows that his parents are still thinking of him.**

 **"Look," she says. "They're in a place where those bullies can't hurt them anymore. Whatever they did to their earthbound bodies that day, they can't feel. They could care less about what they're doing now."**

 **Grant nods. "You're right," he says. "Those fools are trying to get to them, even when they're dead, but they can't. And when their time comes, I know they'll stand no chance against God's final judgement."**

 **"Despite what happened to me, forgiving that man was worth a try," Eric joins in. "Do you think—you can forgive Howard and his posse—along with those mean relatives?"**

 **"I'll see if I can," sighs Grant, "not that it's gonna do anything. It's the same with Luigi here—my forgiveness is taken advantage of."**

 **"Not all of the time," I clarify. "Some of them jump at the chance to redeem themselves in my eyes. If you wait long enough—maybe one of them will see the light."**

 **"I sure hope so," mumbles Grant.**

 **Two days later, Grant and I have lunch, where he tells me about the offensive relatives paying him a visit. He says they were nicely cleaned up and bore flowers and gifts. But Grant could tell by their humbled facial expressions and the tones of their voices that they gave a sincere apology. They admitted to craving a piece of the estate and also that they'd been experiencing family and marital problems of their own. Then, they glorified Grant's parents and explained how they helped them in their time of need, and that they had no right to ream them out as they had after the nice things they'd done. Moved, Grant had decided to give them another chance and accepted their apology.**

 **"Maybe they're right," muses Grant when he's finished. "Sometimes, forgiveness** _ **does**_ **work."**

 **"What about Howard?" I venture.**

 **"He's done this to me all my life, and I've forgiven him over and over," he says. "Who's to say that he won't take advantage of this again?"**

 **"Once the police get him off the streets, maybe you'll get closure over this," I smile.**

 **"Yeah. Maybe," murmurs Grant.**

 **Sitting there, eating our lunch, the storm seems to clear up, and we feel that everything's gonna be okay.**

 **Until it isn't.**

 **It's subtle at first. Just a few Tweets and texts here and there, annoying comments about Grant's home life. He's dealt with this before, so he just ignores it and moves on.**

 **Then, there's a letter in the mail, addressed to Leni, saying these horrible things about her marriage. Posts to her Facebook account, making unwanted passes at her. Harassing text-messages pour into her phone, and then the calls start. During meals, while they're helping the kids with their homework, during TV night, board game night, movie night—and they won't stop coming. They'll come home from running errands or eating out to find their answering machines full of nasty messages paying disrespects to Grant's late father.**

 **But then they begin turning their energies toward the son. My guess is that they've grown bored of bullying a dead person, since dead people can't react to their taunts. But Grant surely can, and as much as I, along with Drs. Mario, Park and Thorpe, try to discourage him, he takes their bait like a spider to a fly. As the days drag on, Grant's job performance begins to suffer. He spends more time on the computer, fixated on the increased cyberbullying. It's not just Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, etc. It's emails, too, on both his and his wife's accounts. But from what Leni tells me, it's encroaching on his work and his family time. She talks about how distracted he appears during board game night and video game night. He's sleeping less. He's bumping and banging around in the house. He doesn't seem to enjoy family get-togethers like he used to. His sales pitches take forever to get going. The once-valuable employee is now in danger of being fired. I keep ignoring my own urges while pleading with Grant to just ignore them. But it seems like they're everywhere now. He has to disconnect his home phone and turn off his cell phone when he needs some peace. Leni and the kids have to literally pry him away from the computer. He starts outbursting at work, lashing out at his coworkers and his boss. He attends the support group meetings less frequently, and when he does attend, he's rarely engaged in Dr. Thorpe's activities. Whenever she tries to draw him out, he gets a bit spicy with her, only to apologize seconds later.**

 **I'm worried about Grant now. He's not the person I met so long ago. How did he become like this? I'll tell you how—it's those heathens! They have no respect for anyone except themselves! They're trying to push my friend away from me, and I won't let them! I want to reach out and help him, and if he rejects me, then that's too bad. Because I care about him, and I'm not gonna let him self-destruct over scum! He needs to focus on getting himself back together and reconnecting with his wife and kids.**

 **And** _ **I'll**_ **take care of those bullies.**

* * *

 _ **Grant's POV**_

 **I feel like I'm being ripped apart by these people. Just when things seem to get back on track, they start blowing up my phone, mailbox and inbox, and then they target my wife! I don't know how, but they've obtained our address and my wife's phone number. I'm not safe from them anywhere, not anymore. At first, I try to follow Luigi's and Leni's advice and ignore them, but there are so many scathing remarks I can ignore. If they're not paying disrespects to my mother, my father, or both of them, they're going after me and my wife! I guess disrespecting the dead has gotten tiresome for them, since there are no reactions to gauge. But they've done enough damage—so why don't they just back off?!**

 **It's just the beginning of this nightmare. Our phones begin ringing off the hook. Our social media pages become infested with cruelty. If we want a decent night's sleep, we have to turn off our phones and computers. And even then, I can't sleep. I hear their mocking voices in my head. Images of my childhood flash before me. I remember how they'd corner me in the playground, how they'd push, shove, punch, kick, stomp, laugh, jeer and throw dirt, mud and bark in my face. I remember the laughingstock they'd make of my father every Career Day. I remember the light slowly dying in my father's eyes as the torment progressed from elementary school to middle school to high school—even college and beyond. I remember my friends' feeble attempts to defend me before ultimately abandoning me, leaving me to face the wolves alone. I remember—the last time I saw my father; he was already dead inside before that fateful phone call. He'd been a shell of his former self. And I keep thinking that there's something I should've done. Something—**

 **I keep hearing the voices. Mocking, jeering—accusing. I'm trying to keep it together, but it's an uphill battle. Night falls, and I roam the house in a fit of nervous energy, rattling pots, pans and furniture, trying to find something to do before I lose it. Eventually, I grab my laptop and take refuge in the den, breathless, my eyes glued to the computer screen as jabs are hurled at me in cyberspace. I start spending nights there, on the couch with my laptop, even falling asleep with it balanced on my lap, if I manage to get some sleep. I know I'm neglecting my family, but I'm too cocooned in grief to care.**

 **Leni's trying to reach out. "Grant, I get that you're hurting. I'm hurting, too. But you still have a family to look after. The kids miss you. I miss you in bed at night."**

 **I stare at her, fresh tears in my eyes. "I hear their voices, Leni," I confess to her. "It just keeps getting worse; that video on the flash drive was posted to YouTube and it got 500,000 hits within the hour! I don't understand. What has happened to humanity? How could God create people like them?! They're murderers! They killed my parents; they killed them!"**

 **It takes a while for me to realize that I'm screaming like a madman; the numbness protecting me is gone and the reality smashes into me like a subway train. My life is broken, and I don't know how to fix it. Leni hold me and sings me a lullaby her mom used to sing to her when she was a child.**

 **She's saved me before. But can she save me this time around?**

 **Week after week, I try to be a good husband to her. I try to be a good dad to Alex, Nora, Dan and Shelia. We still get together for board games, video games, movies and outings at parks and pools and the like. But they're always interrupted by text messages and phone calls. And even with that stuff turned off and disconnected, my thoughts race. I can't trust anyone, not the theme park attendants or random cashiers or straggling parkgoers. Any one of them can be in league with the bullies, just like the funeral director who's fled to God-knows-where. I'm going through the motions without putting any feeling into it. Mechanical, like a flesh-and-blood robot. When the kids are in school, and Leni is off running errands, I visit the nicely cleaned up gravesite of my parents, crying my eyes out. Other times, I curse Howard and his buddies, curse the friends who didn't stick up for me, I curse the Fates and I even curse God for doing this to me. Why did He make my life like this? Why?!**

 **I can barely concentrate at work now. There are new flashlight brands coming in, and I have to help market them. But it's becoming a chore. The fun and excitement behind the business is slowly fading away. Some of the higher-ups make a big show of their authority, and it's not helping my mental state. My boss offers me paid leave, but I can't leave this job; I need it. So, I struggle on, barely meeting deadlines and jumping out of my skin whenever the phone rings, hoping against hope that the dogs haven't found my workplace number—**

 **Deadlines start coming and going. Unsold flashlights pile up. My boss is breathing down my neck. Co-workers are sneering at me. And then comes the day I hoped would never dawn—the day those dogs start calling my workplace and bragging about how well they're doing at some Fortune 500 company while my performance is on a steady decline. I stumble through lackluster sales pitches and snap at colleagues when they ask me what's wrong. When my boss confronts me about my job performance, I lash out at him, too, earning me a suspension. And then there are bills to pay and doctor's appointments and the voices in my head growing louder and louder and LOUDER AND LOUDER AND—**

 **I'm losing the will to fight. I'm making up excuses to miss the support group meetings. I'm lying to Dr. Thorpe, to Eric, to Caroline, and worst of all, to Luigi. I'm withdrawn from family activities. On the meetings I manage to drag myself to, I only manage to mumble a few words. I feel Luigi's eyes on me. I know he's getting disappointed in me, but I'm trying. God—nit, I'm trying! I lose my temper with Dr. Thorpe sometimes, only to feel guilty immediately afterward. My mind is a mess, and it's those dogs' fault. I haven't heard news of any arrests. Maybe they've all fled the country. Cowards. My faith in the justice system is shrinking. My interest in my new friends is diminishing. I like to spend most of my days alone now. Family outings have turned into the same old song. I barely have the energy to play with my kids and border collie or make love to my wife.**

 **These bullies have become my obsession. I log on each day and look at the things they've written about me and my wife. I answer the phone and listen to the nasty things they say about us. I memorize their names and write them down in a piece of paper I keep in a secret hiding place. As I fall further behind in my work, a monster begins to grow inside me, a monster who fantasizes hunting these beasts down and hurting them. Breaking their bones and spines, beating them, cutting them and burning them. Even killing them.**

 **I remember how Luigi used to go all the way with his tormentors. He used to subject them to agonizing, gruesome deaths. But when he stormed** _ **that man**_ **'s lair last year, something clicked in his mind, and he decided that it would be more satisfying to simply maim them and let them live. But now I understand why Luigi wanted to kill them. Because they filled him with a murderous rage, just like what they're doing to me. They made his life Hell on Earth, and that's why I think he felt they deserved to die. And my life is slowly becoming Hell on Earth, and now I want these pigs to die. I want to massacre them and then bathe in their blood. I want them to scream in pain and beg me to spare them. I want to take and take from them the way they took and took from me.**

 **But I know I can't do that, because then I'd lose Leni, Alex, Nora, Shelia, Dan and Spirit for good. Killing those dogs is definitely out of the question. Luigi will probably never speak to me again. As much as he wants to hurt these people himself, I'm his top priority right now, and he wants to have my back like a true buddy. He reminds me of this whenever I attempt to push him away, and I guess he should, because I understand him, and he understands me.**

 **Don't worry, though. Bloodying my hands is off the table, but I've found the next-best thing. In the midst of this spiraling, I've made another new friend, a secret little buddy that my wife and kids and Luigi don't know about—and never will know about. This little guy keeps me company at night and quiets the mocking voices in my head. Thanks to him, the cyberbullying and phone calls aren't so bad anymore. Thanks to him, my job performance is back on solid ground. Thanks to him, my interest in attending the support group has been renewed. Thanks to him, I can enjoy family outings again. Thanks to him, I can fill Leni's nights with blazing passion. Thanks to him, I can get over my parents' death. Thanks to him, I no longer feel pain, grief, dread, doubt, fear or any negative emotion. Heck, he may even be a better friend than Luigi. At least** _ **he**_ **has a brother and a Princess and some doctors and a gaggle of talking mushrooms and a giant gloved hand. So who is he to counsel and lecture me about what I'm going through? My new little friend, though, doesn't do that. He doesn't even have to say a word—he just pours his liquid treasures down my gullet.**

 **After all, bottles don't talk.**

* * *

 **Please R &R.**


	17. Derailment

**Derailment**

 _ **Six weeks later…**_

Giulia sat in the interrogation room, smiling triumphantly at Howard. The man fidgeted nervously in his seat, trying to retreat further into the collar of his shirt like a turtle. He knew he was busted, and the only thing he could do was pray for a good lawyer and throw himself on the court's mercy.

In contrast, Officer Giulia was on cloud nine. After an extensive undercover operation, akin to those used to catch predators, Howard and his friends were rounded up, read their rights and taken into custody. Little resistance had been offered. It had been futile to resist; Giulia outpaced and outwrestled even the toughest perp out there. They all knew not to mess with her. She and Quinn oversaw the operation and used their skillful planning to ensure that no unnecessary lives would be lost. They'd also instructed the officers not to use too much force, unless they wanted to deal with a lawsuit. It was especially difficult to do, given the egregiousness of Howard's little stunt. Many on the force had lost loved ones or colleagues, and the thought of this scumbag doing something like that at _their_ funeral services—

This was what happened: Under an assumed identity, Giulia had privately messaged Howard, pretending to agree with his views on Grant's deceased parents. She also made up a story about how much she despised her own parents and how she couldn't wait for them to die, which nauseated her because she enjoyed a healthy and nurturing relationship with her two dads. But she had to do what she must to nail these guys. After gaining Howard's trust, they'd spent the next few weeks chatting online, Howard introducing her to his buddies. Finally, Giulia struck gold when Howard told her of a plan to ruin Grant by framing him for possession of child pornography. In exchange, she teased at a "plot" of her own and invited him and his friends to meet her at Hot Topic to discuss it further. Howard took the bait, brought his friends to Hot Topic and were soon surrounded by police cars and police vans. They'd been given no time to react, and soon, the found themselves in a holding cell at the station.

At last, Grant and his family could get some closure.

"There's no use trying to deny it," Giulia purred, smiling at Howard the way a shark would smile at a small fish before eating it. "We have your thumb prints on that flash drive. Eyewitness statements put you at Grant's place on that day. We have video recordings of you desecrating that grave, phone records of the mean texts and calls you sent to Grant. There's enough to put you away for a long time—unless you tell us why you did it."

"I want a lawyer," said Howard, with shifty eyes.

Those were the magic words. Giulia stood up and left the room, slamming the door with a frustrated huff.

"Well?" asked Quinn, approaching her.

"He's not spilling anything, and he just asked for a lawyer," said Giulia.

"And here she is," said a voice.

Giulia and Quinn turned to see a crisply dressed young woman with long, dark hair.

"Maya?" gasped Quinn.

Giulia gawked. "You know her?"

"Yeah. She's the best darn defense attorney in the Nintendo universe," said Quinn. "Remember L's lawyer in that civil suit?"

"Phoenix? What about him?" asked Giulia.

"He and Maya worked together when he was still a defense attorney," explained Quinn.

"Don't worry," Maya piped up. "We're still friends. So, for how long have you kept my clients?"

"Not for very long, I assure you," Quinn said smoothly.

"Yeah," said Giulia. "I was just finishing up with Howard. He just asked for you."

"I would like to speak with him, please," said Maya.

"He's all yours," said Giulia. "Good luck trying to justify _this_."

"While I sympathize with Grant and his family, I still have a job to do," Maya said gravely. "Good day, ladies." And then she swanned into the room, where Howard sat.

"These guys are desperate," mused Giulia.

Quinn laid a reassuring hand on the younger officer's shoulder. "Don't worry," she said. "We still have Kovacs, and she did a brilliant job at last year's tribunal. Those guys won't get a slap on the wrist as long as _she's_ around."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Grant and Leni were watching the news on TV in their bedroom when the latter turned to smile at her husband. "They did it," she said. "They got them."

Grant nodded. "Finally," he breathed. "I heard they busted those jerks with an undercover op."

"We may be called to testify," said Leni. "You think you can handle that?"

"Yeah. I want them all locked up."

"So do I. And I know they'll do it. I've read marvelous things about Kovacs. She's a heavy hitter."

"Wanna celebrate tonight?" asked Grant. "I'm thinking about the ice-cream shop the kids like. We haven't been there in a while."

"I agree," said Leni, kissing Grant's temple. "It's good to see you back to your old self, Grant."

"It feels good, too," nodded Grant, knowing that he had his secret pal to thank, as well. "Could you close and lock the door, please?"

Leni slid out of bed, shut the door, engaged the lock and sashayed back toward the bed. She sat on Grant's waist and pulled her nightgown off. As soon as both of their clothing was removed, her husband kissed up her stomach, round her breasts, and finally claimed her lips. After twenty-five or so minutes of fondling and making out, Grant rolled them over, flicked his tongue over Leni's domes, about her belly button and finally slid the tongue inside her core.

"Ooooh…" she moaned languidly as he held her hips in place and plunged away with his tongue. "Ohhhh-mmmmm-aaaahhh—uuuhhhnnn…"

Then, Grant decided to use the rest of his mouth, lips finding prime places to suckle and slurp. She tasted heavenly, and her pulsing walls felt so good. What he'd been through since that disaster of a funeral didn't matter anymore. Justice had been served, and he could finally move past the loss, no matter what fate threw at him. He could even part ways with his secret friend, and no one would have to know. He translated the emotions he'd experienced over the past months into raw lust, eating his wife out and truly reconnecting with her for the first time. He willed his mouth and tongue deeper and deeper still, her body beginning to writhe, her breath turning into soft pants and her moans increasing in intensity.

Slight tremors danced down Leni's body; Grant braced her hips to keep her from grinding against his face. His tongue slowed and deepened; his lips pulsed inside her like kisses. He felt her muscles tensing and clenching, wetness sliding into his mouth. Her pants increased, her moans turned into a litany of German swear words and her walls heaved with pleasure. Fingers played with her taut belly while his mouth maintained that tortuously slow pace, prolonging it all. She was breathing in short, controlled bursts, arousing him more than the feeling of his mouth encased in her warmth. He glanced up slightly to see her dancing, flexing, quivering and shuddering belly button; he kept his eyes on it while continuing his slow feast. Her abdominal muscles gently weaved to and fro, twitching whenever his tongue hit a certain place down there. He continued, slowing more and more and more, until her navel started spasming. Licking and slurping, savoring her taste, until her words devolved into senseless gibberish, until she was seconds away from opening the floodgates—and just when she was about to bowl over, Grant licked one long, last time and retreated.

Grant heard Leni's soft sound of protest as he licked his lips clean, and then he placed his wet mouth on her torso, peppering it with kisses, savoring the feeling of taut skin beneath his lips. Blotting his wet, warm lips on her skin, along each rib, up the center of her ribcage, up and down her sides, across her waist, on her wonderfully sculpted hips and finally playing cat-and-mouse with that jumpy navel. He prodded the navel a few times with his tongue before gently blowing into it, drawing a long gasp from her. Finally, he did the same with her chest, dragging his lips along her collarbone, lining up kisses between her breasts, around her breasts and on her breasts before taking them in his mouth. He looked into her dilating eyes, her lips moving as more gibberish spilled forth, and saw that she carried as much tension as him. While fixated on those people, he'd really left her out, and he'd spend the rest of his days making up for that.

He spent the next hour kissing up, down and around her body, his blood rushing southward and her tremors increasing to shudders. There was no time to lose. Grant positioned himself and dove in, Leni screaming God's name at her husband's size. Sweat popped out along their bodies as he thrust and thrust and thrust, fast and shallow at first, and then deep and slow and hard. Pelvises slammed and smacked together. Breasts fluttering against a stout chest. Leni was unable to hold back her cries, thankful that the kids were still in day care. Her head was flung back against the pillow, Grant dive-bombing her neck with wet kisses. She grappled, squeezed and throbbed around him as he drove deeper and deeper into her, swelling relentlessly. That felt _good_. His hands cupped the small of her back while her arms were flung round his shoulder blades. He saw ripples roll up her upper body and felt shock waves resonate through his own. The pleasure was divine. _She_ was divine. He was pistoning passionately and frenetically into a holy being.

Leni clutched him and screamed over and over. Grant could barely control his breathing now. Sweat cooled his hot chest and reduced the friction as his body slid along hers again and again and again. The shudders were more pronounced. She was bathing him in her juices. They were almost over that line; yet they held it in—held it in till it grew unbearable; till everything they knew was this deep, intense bliss stored inside their bodies—hardness, throbbing, slickness, wetness, pressure, emotions. As Grant pumped and pumped and pumped and pumped inside his beloved wife, Leni released the tension she'd held inside in torrents. While her husband had been in that funk, spending nights on the couch, she'd had to rely on herself, but it could never compare with _this_. Her hips jerked, and the rest of her shuddered more and more violently at the sensation of his undulating body.

"Leni…" moaned Grant as he finally came undone, emptying himself into his wife. In the midst of the violent gush, she unraveled with a long and loud "Gaaaahhhhh!" They held each other tightly as they bathed each other in their juices, groans and cries slowly subsiding into loving whispers and kisses.

They were back in a good place, and that was all that mattered.

Or so it seemed—

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Two days later, Howard and his accomplices sat at their arraignment as the court clerk read out the docket number and the case. Right behind them sat Grant, Leni, Luigi and Daisy, their faces set. They could smell Howard's fear. He wasn't so high and mighty now with the threat of prison looming before him!

"How do the defendants plead?" asked the judge.

"Guilty, Your Honor," Maya said quietly.

"The people on bail?" the judge turned to Kovacs.

"The people request remand," said Kovacs. "The defendants run powerful international companies and have assets all over the globe. They are serious flight risks."

"My clients did not commit a violent crime," said Maya. "They are respectable businessmen and stockbrokers, and they have agreed to surrender their passports."

"They openly admitted to desecrating a grave, and one of them put on a shameful display at the wake of the deceased," argued Kovacs. "So far, they have shown no remorse for their actions."

"My clients need time to put their affairs in order," said Maya. "I request house arrest with a 24-hour monitoring device."

The judge nodded. "Granted. The defendants are hereby released to their respective homes and will be monitored with an ankle bracelet. If they attempt to leave without prior permission, they will be remanded into custody until trial." He banged his gavel. "Next case."

Howard sneaked a smirk at Grant as he and his friends were escorted away. "Told you I was gonna get away with this," he said.

"We'll see," hissed Grant.

Luigi put his hand on Grant's forearm. "Hey," he said.

"Yeah?"

"What happened back there?" asked Luigi. "For a second there, I thought…"

Grant smiled, as if it was no big deal. "I got better," he said. "I promised the kids we'd go to the park today. See ya later."

He smiled and herded his family out of the courtroom—but Luigi was starting to grow suspicious. How could it take weeks for him to fall apart, but a mere day or so to pull himself back together?

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 _ **One week later…**_

Dr. Park beamed her smile at Luigi as he sat down in her office. "Nice to see you again, L," he said, "as always."

"Thank you," said Luigi.

"I hear that the gang of desecrators are in custody," said Dr. Park. "Do you think that will improve things with Grant?"

"Actually, they're under house arrest," said Luigi, "but I'm sure that it will make things better for Grant."

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm still upset that Howard would burst in on such a solemn occasion. I'm agitated that he and the others are waiting for trial in their comfortable homes. And I'm frustrated that even after that, they keep going." He sighed. "They found out his address, his wife's number—bombarded them with emails, calls and texts. I'm scared that they might target the kids next."

"Do you feel responsible for Grant's well-being?"

Luigi blinked. "Kind of. I'm not the boss of him, so I can't tell him what to do. But…"

"You're still concerned for him."

"I am. That's what I want to talk about today."

Dr. Park nodded. "Go on."

"I'm worried about Grant. He's acted strange lately. After the business at the funeral and the flash drive and the cyberbullying, he's stopped going to meetings, his job performance dropped, and he withdrew himself from me and his family. Then, all of a sudden, boom. He's back to normal, like it never happened. Like he never pushed me away or steeped himself in self-pity. He's just acting like everything's hunky-dory and offered no apologies or explanations, at least to me, for distancing himself."

"What are you saying?"

"I—I think Grant had some help in getting back to his old self. And not the good kind. Sometimes, when we're talking together, I swear I can smell it on his breath."

"You think he's becoming—an alcoholic."

Luigi nodded. "Yes. Trust me, I know the signs. When they're falling apart one moment and completely normal the next, something's off. What do you think I should do, Dr. Park? Should I confront him?"

"Luigi, what I think Grant needs is some space. I'm sure he'll confess when he's ready."

"When will he be ready? When he falls off the wagon and does something he'll regret? I don't want this to destroy him. I don't want to lose him." A tear seeped from a blue eye.

Dr. Park studied her patient, suddenly bombarded with thoughts of Dr. Mario. She'd felt responsible for her mentor's emotional state ever since she learned the extent of what he'd endured in Melee. She cared for him deeply and wanted to protect him and make him feel better. As such, she was a little upset with him for not telling her, for having little faith in her. Maybe if she'd helped them, if she'd given his hecklers a good talking-to, then he wouldn't have had dark fantasies. He wouldn't have tried to shoulder it alone. They would've dealt with it as a team. So, she understood why Luigi had come to her with his concerns regarding Grant. He was scared of seeing the salesman self-destruct before him—as she was scared of seeing Dr. Mario self-destruct before her.

"Do what you think is best," she said finally, coming back to the present.

"I know for a fact that he's hiding something from me," said Luigi, "and I'm gonna find out what."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 _ **At the next support group meeting…**_

"House arrest," Grant said. "After defiling my parents' graves and inciting some of my relatives to speak ill about them, the judge allows them to relax rather than wait it out in lockup! You should've seen the way they smirked at me afterward! Who's to say that they're not on their computers now, gloating about it?"

"It's not over yet, though," said Dr. Thorpe. "They still have to go to trial. A jury of their peers will find them guilty."

"But what if they don't?" fretted Grant.

"That's highly unlikely," Caroline reassured him. "There's the flash drive, the social media posts, the chat transcripts, the photographs and phone records. The jury _will_ convict."

"I'd still sleep better at night if they were sitting in a cell," said Grant.

"So would I," said Luigi.

"Look at it this way," said Eric. "They'll only be allowed to relax in the house as long as they _stay_ in the house."

"Yeah," Grant said finally. "That's one way to look at it."

"And they won't get to hang out like they used to," offered Giulia.

"They just have to sit around at home, praying for something good on TV," nodded an attendee named Verne.

"And I bet they know deep in their hearts that they're guilty," reasoned Eric. "That ought to spoil things for them."

"Hopefully, the judge won't go easy on them," said Luigi, "or worse yet, dismiss the case due to a technicality. Did I tell you guys that it happened with me once? The former assistant master of ceremonies for the Smash tournament arranged for the perp's overturned conviction."

"L, I assure you, it won't happen here," vowed Giulia.

"Good," said Luigi. "Hey, Dr. Thorpe—we haven't really talked about coping mechanisms here, have we?"

He thought he saw Grant stiffen.

"You're right," said Dr. Thorpe. "We haven't. How about we go around the circle and talk about our current ways of dealing?"

"I'll start," offered Luigi. "Sometimes, I play sports or go kart racing. Other times, I write in a diary or do some artwork. I've been vocal on Miiverse and on the Smash Blog about how I've been treated. I dance, too. I've always loved to just lock myself in my room, draw the shades, turn up my music and dance till my legs get wobbly. And when things get really bad, I tear up Sandbags."

"That's a good variety of methods, Luigi," said Dr. Thorpe. "Thank you for sharing."

"I cope by watching SportsCenter," said Caroline, "and by surfing the Internet for beauty videos."

Eric went next. "Whenever I get really upset, I go horseback riding," he said.

"I cook," said Giulia, "and I pamper myself."

"I watch classic movies," smiled Verne.

Grant just stared at the floor.

"Grant, would you like to share your coping mechanism with us?" asked Dr. Thorpe.

"Huh? What?" Grant snapped his head up. "No. I just—cope."

"It's amazing you should say that," said Luigi, "because one moment, you were closing yourself off, and the next, you were back to normal. Your method must be _super_ effective."

"C'mon, L—it's really nothing," said Grant. "I stewed over it for a few weeks, thought I was drowning, and then told myself that I wasn't. It's that simple."

"Why did you stop attending these meetings?" asked Luigi. "All of us here—we need you. And you need us."

"I can take care of myself, thank you," Grant said crisply.

"That's not what I'm talking about," Luigi told him. "We're here to support you! That's why we come here once a week—to support each other."

"Yeah," Caroline chimed in. "We missed you, man. Where have you been?"

"I just—needed time alone," said Grant.

"And then whatever was bothering you just magically disappeared?" challenged Luigi. "I don't believe that for even a second. So tell us, Grant. How have you been coping with this—and what makes it so much easier than turning to one of us?"

"L," cautioned Dr. Thorpe. "I know you're worried for him, but _do not_ get confrontational."

"I'm sorry," said Luigi, "but I've started noticing things about Grant that weren't quite right. Like when he came back to the meetings, he acted like he never even left. Like it was no big deal that he left. Grant, I'm putting this on you because I care about you. I'm your friend. And I know you've been suffering, but I wanna be here for you."

"Like you know anything about suffering," mumbled Grant.

Luigi's face froze. "Excuse me?"

"Nothing," Grant said quickly. "L—I appreciate that you're looking out for me and all, but really, I'm fine. I'm not a little kid, all right?"

"That's not the attitude you gave me when we met," Luigi said calmly. "You want to know what I think, Grant? I think you're hiding something. I think the way you're coping with this is unhealthy, and you don't want us to know about it."

"Nonsense," said Grant.

"Is it? Grant, it looks like you pulled it back together, but your behavior just isn't like it used to be. My spider senses are tingling, and I know something's off with you. I'm gonna find out whatever it is sooner or later—so it might as well be sooner."

"L, c'mon. I'm an open book," Grant said cheerily. "We're buddies, right? And you can trust me. I've got nothing to hide. I just managed to crawl out of a dark place without any help, so could we please drop this?"

Luigi was about to say something when Grant's cell phone buzzed.

"Excuse me," said Grant as he answered it.

"Hello? Hey, Leni, what's up? Wait, _what_? When? Is he—okay, put him on." A pause. "Hey, bud. What happened? I know, I know it hurts, but you need to stay calm for me, all right? Everything's gonna be fine. I'm out the door and headed to my car right now. Tell your mom I'll be there in ten." Grant hung up and stood to leave.

"What's going on?" asked Luigi.

"It's Danny," Grant hastily explained. "He's in the hospital. There's been an accident or something—I gotta go!"

"Well, let me come with you," offered Luigi.

"No—that won't be necessary. You've helped out enough for the day." On those words, Grant left the community center.

"This talk isn't over, Grant," Luigi said to himself. "Not by a long shot."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Grant plowed through the doors of the emergency room, his mind all over the place like a Jackson Polluck piece. Howard and his cronies getting house arrest, Luigi needling him, and now this. The florescent lights seared unmercifully into his eyes as doctors and nurses bustled about in their scrubs, machines beeped, voices barked orders and voices chattered over the PA system. He located his family in the waiting room, Shelia, Alex and Nora clinging to their mother like a life raft. All four of their faces were red and swollen from crying.

"Dad!" cried Nora, breaking free from Leni and dashing into Grant's arms.

"It's okay. I'm here," said Grant, rocking the girl back and forth. He then looked at his wife. "How's…?"

"They have him in surgery," sniffled Leni.

"Surgery…?"

"We were in the park, and it happened so fast…" Leni choked back sobs.

"Hey. Come here," said Grant, pulling her into his arms.

"It's all my fault," sobbed Leni. "I turned my back for one second…"

"It's not your fault," soothed Grant. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"These bigger kids were holding him down, and their leader—why didn't he tell us?!"

"My God," gasped Grant. "He's being picked on?"

"I haven't seen anyone pick on him till today," Alex broke in.

"I heard his screams and rushed over there," said Leni. "Some bystanders rushed in to help, and Nora got the younger kids out of there and calmed them down."

"Where were their parents?" asked Grant.

"Nowhere in sight," sighed Leni. "I don't think this was random. Because the bigger kids said something to Danny after we got them off him…"

"What did they say?"

Leni swallowed. "They said, 'When your old man sees you like this, then he'll know that he'll never be free of us'."

Grant's eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

A doctor walked over to them. "Are you his parents?" she asked.

"Yes," Grant and Leni said in unison.

"He's awake and on painkillers. He has several broken ribs, facial contusions, a slight orbital fracture, a broken nose, and he'll need wiring on his jaw for a few days. Also, he was cut with a piece of bark, and although the cuts aren't dangerous, he'll be on antibiotics for a week or so. Other than that, he's expected to make a full recovery."

"Can we see him?" asked Leni.

"Sure, just keep it brief. He's a bit groggy, and he needs some rest."

The family made their way to Dan's room, where he lay, sound asleep, hooked to beeping machines and swathed in bandages. Grant sat heavily at his son's bedside, brushing away some hair to reveal the extent of his facial injuries, the wires holding his jaw together and the cuts and bruises.

"Look what they did to my boy," Grant murmured in a broken voice. "Look what they did to him…"

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

More devastating news was on the way. Giulia had just returned to the precinct when Quinn walked over to her, her face ashen. "You're not gonna believe this…" she began.

"What is it, Cap'n?" asked Giulia, feeling her stomach turn on itself.

"I just got a call from Kovacs. She inconsolable." She sighed deeply and shook her head. "Howard and his accomplices are gonna walk."

"Are you serious?!" balked Giulia. "Even after all that evidence?!"

Quinn nodded gravely. "The judge is gonna dismiss the case tomorrow. It's like they're untouchable."

Giulia was beside herself. "This isn't what Grant needs!" she hissed. "That poor man—this is gonna destroy him!"

 **Please review!**


	18. Unraveling

**Unraveling**

 **It gets ugly...fast!**

Later that evening, at the Smash Mansion, Evan and Mandy were relaxing in their room, Evan's head resting on his wife's swollen belly.

"Are they fighting again?" asked Mandy.

"Nope—I think they're just playing with each other," mused Evan.

"I hope they settle down soon," said Mandy. "It's almost bedtime."

"If it gets bad, then we can always sing to them," smiled Evan. "It's worked so far."

"That's the truth of it," chuckled Mandy.

After a comfortable silence, Mandy spoke again.

"What was wrong with that guy?"

"You mean at the wake?" Evan rolled his eyes. "He's just a crazy, messed-up jerk who's gonna get what he deserves."

"The world's full of crazy, messed up jerks," said Mandy, "and we're gonna protect our little ones from them."

Evan kissed Mandy's belly. "Yes," he said. "We will."

There was a knock on the door. "Guys, it's me," said a familiar accented voice.

The couple bolted up. "That doesn't sound good," said Evan as he crossed the room and opened the door.

"Luigi!" he cried, taking in the flustered expression on his ex-roommate's face.

"You said I could come by at any time, and I…" Luigi breathed in gasps.

"What's wrong?" asked Mandy.

"It's Grant—something's happened to him! He got a little testy with me at our meeting this afternoon," Luigi explained.

"What did he say?"

"I was trying to reach out him, but he rebuffed me," said Luigi. "He said that he wasn't a baby and that he didn't need looking after and that—I knew nothing about suffering…"

"That's a lie, and he knows it!" cried Mandy. "Did you tell anyone else? Master Hand? Your shrink? Your brother?"

"If I tell Mario, then he'll want to kill the guy!" cried Luigi. "But Grant didn't mean it. He was probably just having a bad day and…"

"Why am I sensing trouble in paradise?" asked Evan.

"Ever since the stunt Howard pulled, it's like he's barely holding it together. And then all of a sudden, he's acting like it didn't happen at all. He's hiding something, I know it!"

"Grant never struck me as the secret-keeping type," mused Mandy.

"I think he's—drinking," confessed Luigi. "His behavior is a little too—hyperactive and erratic for my taste. And I think I smell the alcohol on his breath. Dr. Park told me to bring it up gently, but when I did so at the meeting, he just…" He shook his head. "All of this is hitting him hard, and I want to help him, but now he's not letting me!"

"Maybe one of us can talk to him," offered Evan. "L—look at me. I know you want to help Grant fight his battles, but you can't do so alone. There are resources you can nudge him toward."

"I'm not going to just sit there and watch my new friend drown in his misery," Luigi said softly.

"You don't have to," Mandy assured him. "You can throw him a lifeline, but whether or not he takes it is up to him."

"Grant got a call," said Luigi. "Something happened to Dan—he wouldn't say what. But my gut's telling me that it's not an accident."

"Yikes," gasped Mandy. "Will that man catch a break?"

"That's what I'm worried about," murmured Luigi. "If this doesn't stop soon—I don't want to even finish that sentence."

"Hey," said Mandy. "You did right to come to us. We'll point Grant in the right direction. But you need to tell your brother about this. Maybe he'll take the high road and not blow up at Grant for upsetting you."

"Yeah, you're right," smiled Luigi. "I'll go talk to him right now. Thanks."

Feeling a little better, Luigi said his goodbyes and left the room.

"God help those two," sighed Evan. "God help them."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

As Luigi walked down the corridor to Mario's room, he was stopped by a gentle touch on his shoulder.

He turned. "Master Hand? What's going on?"

Master Hand wore a grave expression. "I need to speak with you privately. In my office," he said.

Luigi felt sick. "Now?"

" _Now_."

"Okeydokey," Luigi said shakily as he followed the glove to his office.

Waiting for them there were Master Core, Quinn and Giulia. Now Luigi _knew_ something was terribly wrong.

"Hi, Luigi," said Giulia. "This is my captain, Cecilla Quinn."

Luigi shook Quinn's hand. "Hello," he said politely.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," said Quinn.

"Please, have a seat, L," said Master Core.

"What's this about?" asked Luigi. "If this is about last year…"

"Don't worry; we're not here to talk about that," said Giulia.

"Is—is this about Grant? Is he in trouble? Did he get hurt?" Luigi's voice had risen a few octaves in concern.

"Grant's okay," MC assured him. Luigi breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived.

"I'm afraid we have grave news regarding the case against Howard," Giulia slowly began. "Earlier, I got a call from Kovacs. She was distraught. I mean, she had her opening arguments ready, her airtight case, everything. And then…" She paused and dropped her eyes.

" _Dio_. You don't mean…" Luigi's heart nearly stopped beating.

"I don't know how we're gonna tell you this," said Master Hand, "so we're just gonna tell you. Howard and his buddies are going free."

"When?" asked Luigi.

"First thing tomorrow morning," said Quinn. "The case was dismissed, and the charges were dropped. They'll never even see trial."

"That's impossible!" spluttered Luigi. "After all that evidence…"

"And that's not it," sighed Giulia. "Dispatch told me of an attack in the park. It was Grant's son, Dan. They beat him up pretty badly. We went to bust them, but they'd already cleaned. Worst of all, we discovered that $20,000 checks had been deposited into their bank accounts yesterday."

Luigi raised an eyebrow. "They were hired to do this."

MC nodded. "And guess whose name was on those checks?"

"Howard," growled Luigi.

"Apparently, he's a valuable asset to the United States government," huffed Quinn, "so he and his buddies have full immunity now."

Luigi cursed in Italian. "So much for closure," he grumbled. "Have you told him yet?"

"With his son in the hospital? Are you serious?" Giulia asked incredulously.

"I understand your reluctance, but if he finds out we kept this from him…" Luigi shuddered. "He's already a loose cannon as it is."

"Loose cannon? What are you talking about?" Master Hand asked.

"Close the door," said Luigi. "I'll tell you everything."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"You mean to tell me he's just gonna get away with it?" Val barked over the phone.

"From what I was told, he was granted immunity from the federal government, so we have to let him go," Kovacs said sadly.

"You know what this is gonna do to Grant, right?"

"Of course I do. But he deserves to know."

"Wow. That's all I can say," huffed Val. "Wow."

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry about this," said Kovacs, "but my hands are tied."

"I know. All that matters is that you tried. Thanks for the call."

"Yeah. See you."

Val hung up and banged his head against the desk in frustration.

"Having a little trouble on the job?"

The smell of bacon and French fries filled the air as Val raised his head at the voice. Evelyn stood in the doorway with a bag of fast food in her hand.

"Are those…?" Val asked as his mouth watered.

"Bacon-and-cheese fries. Your favorite. And it looks like you need it right now."

Evelyn set the bag on Val's desk and removed the two cartons within. Val popped one open and reveled in the sight of the mountain of potatoes covered in melted cheese and bacon bits.

"What's perplexing you, Val?" asked Evelyn.

"Howard and his gang are getting out of jail free," said Val. "They're 'valuable to the government'."

"D—n," muttered Evelyn.

"First, his parents' funeral service is disrupted, then Danny gets attacked, and now this," sighed Val.

"Danny? Grant's kid? Is he okay?"

"Broken ribs, broken jaw, cuts and bruises, but he'll recover," Val told her. "The kids who did it though—Howard hired them. And now we can't do a thing about it."

"Legally," amended Evelyn.

Val blinked. "You think—Grant's gonna…"

"Or Luigi, or both," said Evelyn. "That's why Giulia the Gorgeous Policewoman stopped by for a visit." She fed him a cheese-covered French fry. "You know—I won't blame them if they decide to go that route."

"Frankly, neither will I," murmured Val as his fiancée fed him another fry.

"May or June?" Evelyn asked suddenly.

"Pardon?"

"Our wedding day—May or June?"

Val smiled. "Let's break tradition and have a May wedding."

"You'll never guess who's standing up as my maid of honor," said Evelyn.

"Who?"

"Smash's new financier herself. And the Wii Fit Trainer's gonna be a bridesmaid."

"I have Luigi as my best man," said Val. "I think I should invite Grant to be a groomsman. Take his mind off of things."

"It's not that simple," Evelyn said somberly.

"Tell me about it," said Val, "but I just want him to stop hurting."

"We all do," Evelyn said tenderly.

"Thinking about what's happened so far—I want to thank God for bringing you into my life."

"Ditto."

They sat there in the office, leveling cheesy French fries into the other's mouth.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Grant sat in his private man-cave. It was dark. He liked it that way. It was silent save for the television. He liked it that way. The only one keeping him company was his secret friend.

He liked it that way.

Time had stretched since Verne, a computer hacker, had revealed to him that the attack on his son was premeditated. It was Howard's idea. He'd lured those kids in with a fat wad of cash and then sicced them on Danny like hunting dogs! His only consolation is that it would be brought up at trial, and his punishment was likely to be doubled. But it still didn't ease the pain of seeing Dan, broken, in that hospital bed. So, he'd turned to his pint-sized buddy and let the liquid flow down his esophagus and toxify his liver, leaving him comfortably numb. Leni and the three other kids continuously told him that he had them and that they were a team, but they weren't the ones who'd been bullied all their lives. His secret friend was the only one who understood. The only one.

The phone rang.

Grant allowed himself another swig before answering. "Hello?"

"Hi, there. This is Rebecca Glasgow from the Smash News Network."

"Mmm-hmm."

"I'm interested in your reaction. According to my source, the men who desecrated your parents' gravesites and hired those big kids to beat up your son are having the charges against them dropped tomorrow, due to federal immunity."

Grant couldn't breathe. "I'm sorry, but I know nothing about that," he said as calmly as he could before hanging up.

Then, he fell to his knees, gasping. His heart jackhammered against his chest. Colors exploded before his eyes. His body shook like a car with its gears stripped. He was sweating in the cool room. Did he hear correctly? Did the woman say that Howard was going to walk? No justice would be done?! The federal government was _protecting_ these sick [ _bleeps_ ]?! This was insane! Insane!

Grant couldn't take it anymore. With an enraged roar, he grabbed the bottle and hurled it against the wall, where it shattered, glass shards and liquid flying everywhere.

"That's it!" he growled. "No more Mr. Nice Guy!" Grabbing his jacket, he stormed out the door and into the night.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Leni's eyes shot open at the sound of breaking glass. Her first thought was that it was a burglar, and that she had to get her kids to safety. Then, she heard Grant's voice shouting, "That's it! No more Mr. Nice Guy!" And then a door slamming.

Still in her nightgown, Leni flew out of bed and fluttered down the hall toward the man cave. She knew it was Grant's favorite place to think. The door was slightly ajar.

"Hello?" Leni called cautiously. "Grant?"

Gingerly, she stepped inside and wrinkled her nose. The place _reeked_ of alcohol.

Wait—alcohol?!

But that couldn't be right. She and Grant had never bought any spirits since they started having children. Maybe she was just imagining things—

In consternation, Leni flicked on the light. The TV was still on. And there, _out, out, d—ned spot_ , was the evidence, the splash of liquid on the wall and the puddle on the carpet, where the shattered bottle lay. She picked up the top half and studied the label. Vodka.

And then she started to think. Of course—it was staring her straight in the face! The times when Grant seemed back to his normal self, the trips "to get some milk", the nightly hours spent in this man cave. The slight slur in his words and the smell of his breath and the way their lovemaking seemed to be—off—in recent months. She should've known! And now he'd run off to God-knows-where!

"Oh, my God," she uttered, dropping the bottle fragment and backing out of the room. Luckily, she knew just the person to call!

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

When Luigi heard his phone going off at around midnight, he knew it wasn't good.

"Hello?"

"L, it's Leni. I—Grant—he…"

"I knew it!" Luigi explained.

"So you had your suspicions, too, huh?"

"Yes. He's drinking, isn't he?"

"I found a broken bottle of vodka on the floor, and he's nowhere in sight!"

"I bet you'll find more bottles," Luigi said smartly. "A good friend of mine has kept tabs on him recently, and he told me that he saw him pay visits to the drugstore to get alcohol."

"It was right under my nose," sighed Leni, "and I didn't spot it until now."

"How did you find out?"

"I heard him yell something and storm out. I went to ask what was wrong…"

"Oh, no…"

"What?"

"He found out!"

"Found out? About what?"

"Howard and his friends get released tomorrow. I was gonna tell you two, I swear!"

"My God! We gotta call the police! Grant's—he's gonna…"

"You leave it to me, Leni!" Luigi was wrestling into some clothes as he spoke. "I'm gonna bring him home and straighten him out once and for all!"

"God be with us," Leni said softly, and then she hung up.

"Ah, Grant," Luigi said in a low voice as he put on his cap and grabbed his keys. "You have a lot of explaining to do!"

And then he sped out of the room, hopped into his car and drove off.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

On the streets, Giulia was patrolling in her car when she and her partner received word of a disturbance. Giulia flicked on her lights, turned on her siren and sped to the scene. When she pulled up at a vacant lot, she couldn't believe her eyes. A man sat astride another man, punching him mercilessly with his fists and screaming obscenities at him. And it wasn't just any man committing this heinous crime. It was the man she'd come to know as a friend and a fellow survivor. The man she saw at her support group each week. The man who was Luigi's newest, closest friend.

Grant.

 **Please review.**


	19. Kronos Unveiled: Sweet Deception

**Kronos Unveiled: Sweet Deception**

 **I'm back! Be warned; this chapter is very sad. Get your tissues ready.**

 _ **Flashback**_

Val was sitting in his office, going over the itinerary the wedding planner had given him, when the door knocked.

"Come in," he said.

No sooner than he uttered those words did the door seemed to fly open. Luigi bounded into the office, his face deathly serious. "Val, I need your help," he said.

"Of course," nodded Val. "I can help you with anything."

"It's about Grant," said Luigi. "He—I think he's in a bad way. After what happened at the wake—he isolated himself, and then, boom. He's back to his old self."

"And you suspect something about that?"

Luigi nodded. "I can smell it on his breath sometimes. He's a little unsteady on his feet. He slurs his words, though he tries to cover it up. And when I was visiting him one day, I thought—I spotted…"

Val's face lit up. "You think he's becoming an alcoholic," he said.

"Think? I _know_ he is!" retorted Luigi, "and I'm not going to sit on my butt and watch him sink into a hole!"

"You're asking me to spy on your friend?" It wasn't a question.

Luigi held out a sack of gold coins. "Here's half of your fee now. When you find out something, I'll pay the other half."

Val looked at the money, and then he looked into his pal's eyes. Gently, he turned down the coins. "No," he said quietly. "I'll do this free of charge. Just promise me that you won't abandon him when he needs you the most."

"You have my word," vowed Luigi. Then, he drew Val in for a hug. "Thank you."

"And thank _you_ for bringing this to my attention. I'll find out everything you need to know."

Feeling slightly better, Luigi bade Val good day and left the office.

 _ **End Flashback**_

When Luigi walked into the precinct, Captain Quinn was waiting for him, her face grave. That was a very bad sign.

"Are you here about Grant?" asked Quinn.

Luigi swallowed. "Yes. He just found out that Howard and his friends are walking tomorrow. Leni called me and told me that she heard Grant throw something, yell about 'no more Mr. Nice Guy' and then bust out of the house. And—we learned that he's been drinking."

Quinn blanched. "My God," she gasped. "I just got a dispatch from Giulia—about a disturbance…"

Luigi throat tightened.

"She and her partner came upon a man beating up another man. The attacker was—Grant. I'm very sorry, but we're gonna have to charge him with assault and disorderly conduct."

"How's the other guy?"

"He in the hospital, but his condition is stable. He'll be out in a week or so."

"Cap'n—are you saying that Grant deliberately provoked this man?" Luigi was beside himself.

Quinn sighed. "I wish I could say 'no', Luigi. They're bringing him in right now."

Faint scuffling caught their attention. Luigi's heart stopped cold at the sight of Grant, struggling against two uniformed officers escorting him in.

"He made me do it!" He snapped. "He wanted me to do it!"

Grant looked awful! His hair was disheveled, and his normally well-pressed clothes were dirty and disarrayed. His knuckles were bruised and bloody, his eyes were bloodshot, and he stunk of vodka. When his eyes fell on Luigi, an easy grin broke out on his face. "Oh, hey, L!" he said cheerily. "You're just in time! Why don't you explain to these officers that this is just a misunderstanding?"

Grant's attitude appalled Luigi. "A misunderstanding? You attacked an innocent man," he said sternly.

"He started it," objected Grant. "I was going about my business when he started talking all of this crap…"

"My best officers are taking a statement from the victim as we speak," Quinn said smartly, "and I just bet he's gonna tell us otherwise."

"I have nothing to say to you, _Captain_ ," hissed Grant. "Instead of talking smack, why don't you get me a lawyer?"

"Watch how you speak to me, my friend," warned Quinn. "You're in enough trouble as it is."

"I'll speak to you however I please, and you're no friend of mine," Grant shot back.

"E- _nough_!" Luigi broke in. "Look, I know you're going through a difficult time, with your kid being injured, but you don't take it out on innocent people. What's gotten into you?"

"For your information, my son was attacked by the very men who are going back on the streets tomorrow!"

"You think I don't know that?" challenged Luigi. "Why didn't you come to me instead?"

"Yeah, as if someone like _you_ would make it all better," sneered Grant.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Luigi.

"What do you know about what I'm going through, L?" Grant asked with complete nonchalance. "You and your Princess and your brother—you all are just living the high life, aren't you? You didn't have to suffer one of them being attacked by those hounds just to get at you, am I right?"

"That is not true," gasped Luigi. "You know perfectly well what happened to Daisy and Peach in Las Vegas! What Claude Mitchell and his sick buddies did to them—and put on video for the world to see…"

"Well, if you suspected danger, then why did you get them involved?" challenged Grant.

"I didn't get them involved. They _chose_ to put themselves in harm's way to help me," said Luigi. "And what about your wife? Why didn't you turn to her when you got the news instead of sitting in your man-cave, wallowing in self-pity?"

"Aww, how cute—you think that the beautiful angel will swoop in to save me like she did before. Well, guess what? I don't need to be saved. And I didn't ask to be saved in the first [ _bleep_ ]-ing place. So, next time you see my beloved Leni, you can tell her that she can get the idea of coddling me and feeling sorry for me out of her head. And that goes for you and the kids, as well."

"Fine. I'll make sure your family gets the message," snapped Luigi, his voice crackling with hurt. "In the meantime, enjoy lockup."

"Wait—you mean you're just gonna leave me here?" whined Grant.

"You don't need to be saved, remember?" shrugged Luigi. "Besides, it looks like a night in jail will do you some good."

"How could you?!" screamed Grant as the unis marched him to the interrogation room. "You turned your back on me! You'll regret this!"

"I'll come back once you've sobered up," said Luigi, "but you need to get your _cazzo_ together before you lose me for good."

On those words, he walked out.

 _ **Flashback**_

"Hey," Luigi greeted Val at a local diner. "I got here as fast as I could."

"I knew you'd want to learn about this as soon as possible," said Val.

"What do you have for me?"

Val slid over a dossier of photos. "I struck gold, L."

Luigi opened the dossier and wanted to faint. There, in full-color, glossy photos, was confirmation of his worst fear. Grant, his best friend, walking out of a drugstore, six-packs of beer, cases of vodka, bourbon, Scotch and tequila in his arms. Shots of him through the window of his house, taking swigs directly from the bottle. Shots of a metal flask neatly tucked away in the breast pocket of his jacket. Grant was lying to him. He was keeping secrets from him. He was choosing alcohol over him. Luigi felt betrayed. After everything they did together—Grant was really gonna throw him away in favor of booze?!

"Wow. I can't believe this," murmured Luigi. "Thank you, Val."

"Of course. I'll keep you posted in case things take a turn." Val sighed heavily. "Personally, I hoped it wouldn't come to this."

"Me, neither," said Luigi.

"When are you gonna confront him?"

"As soon as the situation with Howard settles, I'll have a talk with him about this. Right now—is not the best time."

Val nodded. "Understood."

 _ **End Flashback**_

It was a subdued scene in the Smash cafeteria. In a matter of hours, the Smashers had learned of Grant's shocking arrest and the news that his son's attackers were released. They were worried not only for Grant, but also for Luigi. Would he be able to salvage his friendship with Grant, or would his recovery from last year be hindered by its ruin?

Luigi sat at a table, munching on a bagel loaded with cream cheese, turning last night's heated conversation with Grant over and over in his mind. He was shocked and stung that his friend would lash out at him! How could he accuse him of deliberately putting his friends in danger? How could he downplay Daisy's ordeal in Vegas last year? Luigi wanted to help Grant, yet he got hostile and combative! Their exchange brought back unwanted memories of Smash's former assistant master of ceremonies and how he'd torn him a new one when he sought comfort after Spike Plaxwell had his conviction overturned. Hopefully, it was just the alcohol talking in Grant's case, and he'd be ready to carry on a normal conversation once it was out of his system.

"Heck, maybe I shouldn't bail him out at all," he mused to himself. Grant's attitude was nasty and unacceptable. He had no right to treat him or speak to him like that. And the disrespect he showed toward Quinn was a definite no-no!

Luigi shook his head and took another bite of his bagel. He and Grant would work things out. He was sure of it.

A Mii named Aldo approached him. "L," he said.

"Yeah?"

"MH wants to see you," said Aldo.

Luigi wrapped his bagel in a napkin, dumped his trash and followed Aldo to Master Hand's office.

MH and Master Core were waiting when Aldo appeared with Luigi.

"Thank you, Aldo," said MC. "You are dismissed."

"What's going on now?" asked Luigi after Aldo left.

"We heard about Grant," said Master Hand. "I was thinking if maybe—we could post his bail or pay for a lawyer."

"I'm not so sure about that," said Luigi. "I went to talk to him last night, and he—said some hurtful things to me."

Taking a deep breath, he told Master Hand and MC about what had occurred between him and the flashlight salesman.

"I'm sure he didn't mean it," said MC once Luigi finished. "He was probably drunk and angry and…"

"That doesn't excuse the way he acted," Luigi broke in. "He let me know that my efforts and Leni's efforts were unappreciated, so that's why he spent the night in jail. I'm also having second thoughts about him as a Smasher."

"Why?" asked MC.

"I don't know—after last night…"

"He's probably slept it off by now," said Master Hand. "Maybe you can try to work things out later today."

"I don't know if I can help him this time around. I've done all that I can," Luigi said softly. "What gets me the most is what he insinuated about Leni. What if he didn't want to start a family? What if he…?"

"Like I said, maybe he was just so drunk that he didn't know what he was saying," MC assured him.

"It's just—when he blew up at me, I started thinking about—him," confessed Luigi.

"He was sober, and he's spending the rest of his days in the Minus World," said Master Hand. "I know that what he said upset you, but you can't give up on him while his son is recovering."

"I'm not giving up—not by a long shot," said Luigi. "I just need to clear my head—and he needs to think about his words." He cleared his throat. "Howard and his gang…"

"…are officially free men," huffed Master Hand. "The judge dismissed their case an hour ago. I'm really sorry, L."

"Those fools are the least of my problems," said Luigi. "Hopefully, their time in lockup rattled enough to discourage pulling stunts like that."

"I hope so, too," said MC. "Listen, if push comes to shove, what if we tried talking to Grant? He wouldn't dare use such an attitude with us."

"I'd like that," Luigi said quietly. "Thank you."

"Remember what we said, though," said Master. "Don't give up. Go talk to him this afternoon, and that's a direct order."

"Okeydokey," said Luigi. "Will that be all?"

"Yes," replied Master Hand. "That will be all."

"Thank you—again," smiled Luigi before leaving the office to prepare for the morning's bouts.

 _ **Flashback**_

"You did WHAT?!" shrieked Luigi.

"I know it was wrong, but my spider senses were tingling," defended Val. "I knew there was more to this than the trips to the drugstore. So, I took a gamble—and I won." He gave Luigi another dossier. "These are photos of his private man-cave. Looks like a small liquor store to me."

Shakily, Luigi opened the dossier and wanted to faint! That man-cave was filled to the brim with liquor, spirits and wine! There were many empty bottles scattered every which way. And coolers and mini-fridges, filled to the brim with more of that stuff!

"Grant," whispered Luigi. "What in God's name have you done?"

"Doing that violated everything I believe in," sighed Val, "but you and I are on a mission—a mission to save that man from himself."

"Thank you, Val," breathed Luigi. "Just—don't do it again without running it by me first, okay?"

"Okay."

"You'll have to confront him about this sooner or later," said Val.

"I know—just—not now," murmured Luigi.

 _ **End Flashback**_

Man! Luigi never thought he'd be so angry over what happened with Grant last night, but here it was! During the morning's matches, it roared to life, giving him extra energy and aggression to battle his foes. Said opponents saw the storm signals, and out of respect for his situation, they didn't make a big fuss over losing to or winning over him like they usually did. The man in green didn't have to say a word to his big bro, either. Watching him from his usual spot, Mario knew that he'd gone to see Grant last night following his arrest, and they'd gotten into it over something. He was trying to be understanding towards the burden Grant bore—Danny recovering in the hospital and the beasts who put him there back on the streets and the persistent cyberbullying—but nobody— _nobody_ —took their issues out on his baby bro and got away with it! If the face of Nintendo had his way, then he'd bribe the officers, march to that salesman's holding cell, and—

Quickly, Mario forced the idea from his mind. It wouldn't help Grant get his act together, and it wouldn't help Luigi salvage his friendship— _if_ it was even worth salvaging. The man in red started thinking about the other times when other Smashers saw fit to project their problems onto Luigi. First, there were Captain Falcon and Fox, who'd looked at a stupid list on a piece of paper and decided that it justified having fun at Luigi's expense, a reality that even their repentance couldn't conceal. Then, there was Pikachu, having conniptions over the Green Missile being identical to Skull Bash and brainwashing a few Smashers to make Luigi miserable because of it, a feud which eventually devolved into physical brawls. Master Hand's intervention had brought about a shaky peace which steadied over time, especially when everyone had to work together to defeat Tabuu seven years later. And seven years after _that_ , a handful of Smashers put on a song-and-dance to Master Hand and the suits at Nintendo about Luigi's down throw, one of these Smashers even going so far as to express his own displeasure after a match! Don't even get him started on the successful efforts to keep Daisy out of the tournaments!

Mario felt for Grant. Truly, he did. The Bros had lost their mom when they were children. Both had been picked on at school for their weight and for being Italian-Americans. They had to toil and toil to get where they were now. And being heroes could wear on them sometimes. But did they take any of that out on their friends and loved ones? No. Hopefully, Grant would realize what he'd done and be ready to apologize when Luigi came to visit. Otherwise, he'd have to answer to Jumpman.

The morning ended with a special round-robin Master Hand organized, possibly to help Luigi calm down before his visit to Grant. And what a better way to extinguish his anger than fighting everyone on the roster? It worked, sorta, and by lunchtime, Luigi was chatting heartily with his friends.

After lunch, Master Hand returned to his office to find a note on his desk:

 _I feel a lot calmer now. I'm going to try to patch things up—L._

 _ **Flashback**_

"What is it, Verne?" Grant asked over the phone.

"You're not gonna believe this," said Verne. "I did a little digging, and it seems—Luigi really cares about you."

"Just get on with it."

"Luigi decided to express how much he cares for you—by putting a private investigator on your tail. I took pictures of him entering Valentine O'Halloran's office with a nice-sized sack of gold coins in his pocket."

Grant was silent for a long moment. "Thank you, Verne. Wait for my call," he said before he hung up.

 _ **End Flashback**_

A uni strode over to Grant's cell, where the salesman sat, staring into space. "You have a visitor," they announced.

Grant swiveled around. His eyes were puffy from crying and from lack of sleep, and he was unshaven. Shirt untucked from his pants and unbuttoned, tie loose and crooked. The night in lockup had been unkind to him.

"Is it my friend?" he asked. "There a lot of stuff between us that I want to sort out."

The uni shrugged. "See for yourself," they said before escorting Grant to the visitors' room.

In contrast to Grant, Luigi looked beautiful. Before making the trip, he had showered and trimmed his moustache and hair. His green overalls and yellow shirt were nicely pressed, and his yellow cap was at a smart angle. Gloved hands rested modestly on the table, and his sparkling blue eyes took in his disheveled friend.

"You have ten minutes," said the uni as Grant sat across from Luigi.

"Got it," said Grant as the uni left.

He then turned to face Luigi, who wore a neutral expression on his face. But his eyes told Grant everything. The salesman swallowed and looked down at his hands, watching his twiddling thumbs.

"Hello, Grant," Luigi said, formal and clipped.

"Hi," Grant said morosely.

"I hope you've had time to sober up," said Luigi, "because you're gonna listen very closely to what I have to say."

"Fine. I'm listening."

"Don't be a wiseacre, or else I'm gonna get up and leave right now."

"I'm not being a wiseacre, L. I just had a rough night after being left in that awful place. I honestly expected better from you."

"I won't be made the enemy here. You know why I had to do that," Luigi said calmly. "You were defensive and belligerent—and you beat up a man. I hoped it would calm you down—and apparently, it didn't."

"I'm still waiting for my bail and for my lawyer," said Grant. "You were supposed to take care of that. You're my friend."

"You know—I debated coming here today," Luigi said after a short beat. "What you said to me last night—was unthinkable. But I'm willing to cut you some slack because you already have enough on your plate."

"Very kind of you," Grant said snidely.

"Grant, don't you get it? I'm trying to help you."

"I know, and I appreciate that. By the way, it was very sweet of you to send that P.I. to make sure I was doing all right. Oh, yeah," Grant smiled off of Luigi's shocked look, "I know all about that. About the pictures he took of me and about the day you visited Val's office with some gold coins."

"I'll have you know that Val down those coins," said Luigi, with heat. "He was also worried about you, so he did it for free. And another thing—I came to Val and had him watch after you because I care about you. And I don't want Howard and his friends to destroy you—like my own tormentors almost destroyed me."

"This isn't about you," said Grant. "It's about me, it's about my son being in the hospital and it's about how his attackers are still out there."

"Grant, will you please stop talking and listen?" beseeched Luigi. "Master Hand and Master Core were nice enough to offer you a lawyer and bail money. They encouraged me to try and talk to you this afternoon. If two powerful beings intervene on your behalf, then isn't that telling you anything? Isn't that proof that they want us to get our friendship back on track?"

"Actually, that won't be necessary," said Grant. "The other guy dropped the charges against me. I'm just waiting for the official paperwork, and then I'll be out of here."

Luigi blinked. "Why wasn't I told?"

"Well, you were busy getting your P.I. friend to spy on me, so I assumed you'd miss the memo. Oh—I guess that means you've discovered my deep, dark secret. I've been imbibing."

"Imbibing? How about downing bottle after bottle?" challenged Luigi.

"L, you've got to understand. My pint-sized buddies and I understand each other. They don't coddle me and give me pitying looks and drone on about knowing how I feel, and that's more than I can say for _some_ friends of mine."

"How long have you kept this from me, Grant?" asked Luigi. "How long have you kept it from Leni and the kids? You're a father, and you have a job! This is no time for booze-fueled antics! Oh, and by the way, I haven't yet told her of your little revelation to me last night. I'm going to leave that fun conversation to you. But if you take too long, well, maybe I'll change my mind."

"I'm sorry, L. Are you blackmailing me?"

"Grant, drowning yourself in alcohol isn't going to make your problems go away. It's only going to create a bigger mess—and it did! If you'd been sober, would you have reacted to the news by beating up some random guy?"

Grant hung his head. Luigi made a point there.

"Here's another thing. Leni called me and told me that she found a shattered bottle of vodka in your little man-cave. That's why I rushed over. She _knows_ you're drinking now. Tell me—did she come to visit you after I left? Do you think the police told her what happened? Do you think she'll want you around the kids now that you committed assault? What kind of example are you setting for them?"

"I'm in no mood for your lectures today, L. Okay?" huffed Grant. "Look, if it's about what I said last night, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to come out like that. But my words bore some truth—I'm not a little kid anymore. I can look after myself."

"I'm lecturing you because you're self-destructing in front of me," said Luigi, "and once you've destroyed yourself, who's gonna look after Leni and the kids. They _need_ you, Grant. What kind of husband and father spends their days and nights drinking their problems away?"

"Oh, so I'm out of control. Is that what you're saying? That I'm out of control?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying," asserted Luigi. "You are losing control of yourself, and I'm not about to watch helplessly from the sidelines while you do it."

" _I'm_ out of control?! What about you?!" Grant suddenly exploded, making Luigi's breath catch in his throat. "Who the [ _bleep_ ] are you to judge me?! You can't get out of whatever mess you're in without wailing for your beloved brother to come save you! For your information, I'm an only child, so I had no elder brother to stick up for me—so I stuck up for myself! I overcame those bullies without anybody! But you…" He laughed derisively. "…you always need your friends to bail you out. You always need your precious Princess to drop whatever royal duties she's doing and rush to your side to sweep you into her arms and ride off into the sunset with you. You always need your big bro to back you up, or else you'll soil your pants! Nobody was there for me, and I survived—unlike _someone_ I know, who spent most of his existence crying a river until someone arrived to clean up the messes _he_ made!"

Luigi was gut-punched. "Grant…"

"That's right, L. You're spineless, weak and pitiful. But I don't need _anyone_!"

"Really?" spat Luigi as he rose to his feet, his heart racing, unwilling to believe his friend was acting so cruelly. "Well, that's not the lie you told me at those support group meetings."

"Yeah, like blubbering to them is gonna make a difference," growled Grant, standing up in turn.

"Look," Luigi was breathing heavily now, "before I completely lose my [ _bleep_ ] on you, I ask you to listen to what I'm trying to say to you. The reason why I'm here now is the same reason why I go to my friends when there's a problem—it's because we support each other."

"Well, then," said Grant, "in that case, those friends of yours are gonna have their hands full, because you're a _real_ case!"

Luigi's mouth flew open, his face going pale. Tears glistened along the edges of his eyes. Grant, his best friend, had said _that_ to him. He'd said those horrible things—

Something changed in Luigi that afternoon. Something snapped.

"You miserable, booze-swilling, selfish fool!" Luigi hiccupped, pointing his finger at Grant with accusatory force as his tears broke loose. "You should be lucky there are guards waiting outside!"

As if on cue, the uni poked their head in. "Is everything all right, sir?" they asked.

"Yes. Everything's fine," replied Luigi as more sobs built up in his chest. "I was just leaving. And Grant—when you get out and your world starts caving in on you…" His voice cut to the bone. "…then I'm sure there's a bottle with your name on it."

"Whatever," Grant said snarkily as Luigi stormed out of the room. "Buh-bye! Just run away—after all, it's what you do best!"

Luigi didn't even look back. He stalked to his car, got in and drove straight home, crying silently the whole way.

And as Grant sat in his cell awaiting release, he, too, cried.

 **Please read and review.**


	20. Interlude: Slippery Slope

**Slippery Slope**

 _ **Grant's POV**_

 **Wow. I feel like a big jerk. Just when I needed him the most, I pushed my best friend away. As I'm released from police custody, the finality of my actions crash down upon me. Why, I'm no better than Howard or the others! The more I replay my harsh words in my head, the worse my guilt. I have no doubt echoed what those other bullies have said to him over the years. From the moment we met, I'd felt a spiritual connection to this man—and this afternoon, I threw it in his face. Why? Because I was punk-sore at the world and chose to take it out on him. Just like some other people in his life whose names I won't mention.**

 **Leni lets me in the house, but she doesn't speak to me. I know why. She has seen the alcohol. She loved me and pulled me from the chasm, and I loved her and gave her four children—and now I've betrayed her. I betrayed my kids—I even betrayed my dog! I haven't played fetch with Spirit in ages, and I haven't played board games or had tea parties with my little ones in God-knows how long. I let my own grief and turmoil swallow me whole, and now I'm having face time with a bottle of liquor in a dark man-cave. By the time I realize the hole I've dug myself into, it's too late to dig myself out.**

 **I remember what I said about her to Luigi in lockup. I didn't mean it, not a single syllable. I love my life with Leni and the kids. I love my life with Luigi. I love my job as a flashlight salesman. And I** _ **did**_ **want to be saved from a nightmare. Did Luigi follow through on his threat to tell my wife about that? Honestly, I won't blame him if he did. I deserve it—that and worse. For the rest of my life, I'm going to kick myself for this. Me and my big mouth! What's wrong with me? Why did I say those awful things? Why did I turn to the bottle in the first place?**

 **Why was I even born?**

 _ **Luigi's POV**_

 **Punch. Punch. Breathe. Punch. Punch. Breathe. Punch. Punch. Breathe…**

 **The setting sun slats through the windows of the Training Room. Everyone else has gone to dinner, but I'm not hungry. I haven't eaten a bite since my ill-fated conversation with Grant. At first, I'd been in denial that he said those things. I was numb when I pulled into the Smash Mansion, mumbling greetings to Master Hand and deflecting queries into my well-being. I went straight to my room, locked the door and threw myself into my artwork. I painted for hours. And it was at one moment, covered in paint, when the proverbial dam burst. Grant's tirade collapsed onto me like ash from a volcano. I fell to my knees, a mess of sobs.**

 **When I ran out of tears, I cleaned up, changed clothes and went straight to the Training Room—which brings us to the present. My ceaseless assault upon a Sandbag, my fists fast and strong and vicious, slamming against the canvas and splitting the fabric. My music, as loud as my eardrums can tolerate. Sweat bathing me, trailing into my eyes and mouth. My breath coming fast. As I give that Sandbag the pounding of poundings, I grow angrier and angrier. I'm so livid I can just scream and scream and scream. Months and months ago, it was me and Grant against the world, but now I'm imagining him in place of the Sandbag, taking every last brutal punch I throw, his nose and jaw breaking and his face becoming a mess of bruises and blood. Scenes flash before my eyes, scenes which add fuel to my beatdown.**

 **Grant sulking in his man-cave—** _ **Punch.**_

 **Grant drinking from a bottle of liquor, gulp after gulp—** _ **PUNCH.**_

 **Grant kissing his wife and kids and acting like everything was hunky-dory—** _ **PUNCH!**_

 **Grant smiling in my face and telling me lies and then verbally decimating me in a room where a uni stood guard—** _ **PUNCH-PUNCH-PUNCH-PUNCH-PUNCH!**_

 **I can't reach him now. He'll just push me away. He's in his own little fantasy where bottles are his only friend. Me and Leni and the kids and the rest of his support group can just drop dead. He's drowning, and for the life of me, I can't pull him out of the waves. He'll just laugh in my face and throw the life preserver back at me.**

 **I haven't told anyone about our fight. Especially not Mario. If he ever finds out about that, then he'll have a bounty on Grant. Master Hand and Master Core will just spiel about how I need to "make it right". And the others—they'll be up in arms over it. Grant will become Public Enemy Number One in the Smash Mansion if I tell them. While part of me wants them all to tear Grant to unrecognizable pieces, another part wants to give him the benefit of the doubt. I want to believe that he didn't mean it, that he was just going through a rough time and lashing out. But then again, I used the same excuse with a certain blue-feathered avian, and look how that turned out! Heck, maybe I should go ahead and tell Leni on him. Perhaps a quickie divorce will convince Grant to sober up.**

 **The waning sunlight turns to moonlight. I hear people getting ready for bed, while I'm back to pounding Sandbags. Punches and kicks have turned into full-blown Smash attacks and aerial attacks. I leap and dance all over the room, just like I used to, decimating Sandbag after Sandbag. Adrenaline swamps me, and it feels great. Cries of rage burst from my lips as I concentrate more and more of my fury on the Sandbags before me. Thoughts of Grant swirl on and on in a maddening maelstrom. The Evanescence song is extremely suitable for my current mood, and it takes its desired effect as I scream and tear into the Sandbags. If Master Hand decides to rag on me about how much I'm costing him, then I'll tell him to take a hike.**

 **Sweat pours down my face and soaks my shirt. My tongue flicks out and tastes it—it's as salty as the tears I cried earlier. I send Sandbags crashing out of windows in a symphony of shattering glass, launching my spearhand strike into them so hard that their flanks burst open. Stuffing flies everywhere. A strong breakdance sweep sends more Sandbags sprawling like a group of bowling pins, and as I hop back up, I feel invigorated. I continue to sweat out the ugliness stemming from my argument with Grant, hoping that he's having a very miserable night. Perhaps a few nights of sleeping on the couch will give him something to think about.**

 **Fresh Sandbags stand there, looking at me with their beady eyes. I breathe heavily, my emotions coalescing into an undefinable mass. Inhaling, exhaling, hearing the sound of my heart and Grant's voice as he cuts me with his words—**

 **And then I let those Sandbags have it.**

 **Maybe when the howling and pounding in my brain dies down, maybe when the echo of those words recedes, maybe when the memory ceases to painfully squeeze my chest—maybe I'll forgive Grant and give our friendship another chance.**

 **Maybe—**

 _ **Grant's POV**_

 **I know I have to make things right with Luigi and my family. But how?**

* * *

 **Please Review.**


	21. Dysfunction Junction

**Dysfunction Junction**

"Wow—just, wow," Leni said flatly.

The two of them sat in the patio of Brewster's Café, sipping fruit smoothies. Luigi had just told her the details of his first visit to Grant in the police station. Although a few days had passed, the plumber was extremely hot and raw over the incident. He tried letting it go, tried to understand Grant's pain, but he wasn't about to make excuses for his behavior. Finally, he just couldn't take it anymore and decided to call Leni and tell her everything.

"I can't believe it," murmured Leni, staring at her smoothie. "Was he really insinuating that—he didn't want me? That he didn't want the kids?"

"Maybe," shrugged Luigi.

"And then he said those other things to you when you tried to smooth things over? This isn't my husband, L. He's kind and gentle and empathetic and…"

"…hurting," finished Luigi. "I'm angry at him for going off on me, I really am, but if I leave him at his lowest point, then I'm committing the worst crime."

"I feel the same way. I want to let him have it for keeping his drinking from me, but I also want to help him."

"Have you tried talking him into rehab?"

"I brought it up once, and he got all panicky," sighed Leni. "Most days, he just sits outside and stares off into space. If it weren't for me standing guard, he would've went straight to the nearest bar." She suddenly beat the table with her fist. "I pull him out of the swirling current, and this is how he thanks me? By saying he didn't want it in the first place? And then talking that mess to you?"

Luigi took Leni's hand. "We can only pray that he gets it out of his system soon," he said quietly, "because we both know that we can only put up with so much of it."

"For what it's worth, he feels ashamed for what he's done, for setting a bad example for the kids," said Leni.

"He should be."

"He also feels bad for what he said to you."

"So, he told you, and he hasn't told me?"

"He didn't tell me. I see it in his eyes. I see him sobbing over photos of you two together. He wants to make up for what he said."

"Then why doesn't he?" asked Luigi.

"That's the same thing I ask him," mused Leni. "I've tried nudging him into apologizing, but he suddenly does a 180 and tries to blame you for his outburst. Says that you 'have a way of pushing his buttons' or something like that. Seems to me his pride is getting in the way."

"Typical," huffed Luigi. "How about you? How've you been holding up?"

Leni smiled sadly. "Not good. I'm trying to be so strong, trying not to let Grant's sneaking around with the bottle get to me, but the kids—they wanna know what happened to their dad. Why did he stop taking them to the amusement park or to the games? Why does he push them away when he tries to talk to them? Why doesn't he hang out with you anymore? I don't know how to answer those questions."

"Tell them that he just needs a big time-out to think, because he did some bad things," suggested Luigi. "He needs a time-out from you, from me and especially from the kids. Who's to say that he won't blow up at you the way he blew up at me?"

"L, what would you say if I asked you to meet Grant halfway?" asked Leni.

"What do you mean?"

"I know you're furious, and you have every right to be. But now you know that Grant wants to make it up to you. If you meet him halfway, then it'll be easier for him to apologize and easier for you to forgive him."

"I'm still not over it. It's been days, and I'm still not over it."

The next time you meet, just say 'Hi' to him," smiled Leni. "It's that simple."

"I'll—I'll think about it, Leni. Okay?" Luigi beamed. "Thank you."

"Are you gonna be okay?"

Luigi nodded. "I'll do my best," he replied.

"Just talk to him," implored Leni. "Reach out. Tell him that you're at least willing to listen."

"I'll try, Leni."

"Don't try. Do."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

In the Smash cafeteria, Mario poked at his spaghetti. He hadn't had much of an appetite since he found out what Grant had said to Luigi that afternoon. He'd known that the conversation had gone sour after Luigi stormed straight to his room, barely making eye contact with anybody and looking ready to cry. He'd heard the sounds of his sobs coming from the adjoining wall. And later still, were the guttural and wrenching screams of rage and the thudding blows against Sandbags. Something terrible had gone down between Luigi and Grant, something worse than their conversation the night before.

The next morning, Luigi had acted like it didn't bother him, but his eyes were the windows to his soul and told Mario what he needed to know. So did his blows as they sparred after breakfast, and so did his aggression on the battlefield through the succeeding days. Mario knew why Luigi was reluctant to come out and say it, though. He correctly guessed that it would mean no mercy for Grant the next time they met. Despite what happened, Mario knew that his bro still wanted to be the best friend he could to Grant. But friend or foe—nobody went off on his baby bro and got off scot free! Which was the same reason why Mario wouldn't tell Luigi if someone upset him, knowing he'd react in the same fashion.

Out of respect for Grant's loss, Mario held fast to his temper as long as he could. But then came the day when he got confirmation of the incident. Stanley, a friend of the guard who'd stood watch that afternoon, met him under a tree in the Smashville Park and slipped him a full audio recording of Grant's blowup. Jumpman had to listen to it twice to grasp the finality of what that salesman had said to his baby bro. And the words Grant had spat made Mario ill. He'd doubled over in actual physical pain several times during the recording. Finally, he'd had enough of listening to it, turned it off, and sat there, crying like a child. Crying for his younger brother.

Like Luigi, he tried to give Grant the benefit of the doubt. That he didn't mean those words. That he'd cool off and apologize. But as the days passed and Grant was a no-show, Mario felt the rage creeping back. He was probably back in his man-cave, drowning in booze. Or worse, acting like it didn't happen. Whatever Luigi was going through was tame compared to what Leni, Alex, Danny and Shelia were going through. And did Grant forget that Dan still had wiring on his jaw?

Which brings us to the present. Mario leveling small forkfuls of his favorite food into his mouth, the usual satisfaction associated with a heaping plate of spaghetti strangely absent, overpowered by his ardent brotherly love and urge to protect his sibling. He'd walked in on him earlier, staring out the window and crying silent tears, so vulnerable and raw. A framed photograph of him and Grant was shattered on the floor. And he confessed how tempted he was to give up on Grant even though he shouldn't; his words hurt so badly. The alternating waves of anger and hurt from Luigi was the final nail in the coffin for Mario's feelings toward Grant. And now, the longer he sat here trying to get himself interested in the spaghetti, the angrier he grew, Luigi's tear-stained visage smoldering in his mind—

" _Che cazzo_!" he cried suddenly, leaping to his feet. "You don't get a free pass!"

Dumping his spaghetti, much to the consternation of the Mii helpers, Mario grabbed his keys, headed to his car and went to run a little _errand_.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"Should I forgive him?"

Dr. Mario and Dr. Park stared intently at Luigi as he spoke to them.

"Forgiveness is good for the soul," advised Dr. Mario. "Remember what happened the last time you held grudges, too."

But Luigi shook his head. "What he said was repulsive," he said. "However, I'd never do to Grant what I did to the others. The others wanted me to hurt. Grant's just—acting out."

"L—Grant's grieving," said Dr. Park. "His parents were disrespected as they were laid to rest. Those mean kids beat up his son and put him in the hospital. You know the stages of grief, yes?"

Luigi rattled them off. "Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Truth is, I don't know which stage he's at right now. Lashing out—it looks angry, but he could be depressed, am I right?"

"Yes," said Dr. Park.

"I want to say that he didn't know what he was saying, but I don't want to excuse what he said, either," explained Luigi.

"You don't have to," said Dr. Mario, "but you have to try and forgive him. Your forgiveness will ease his burden."

 _Well, what about mine?_ Luigi wanted to retort, but he knew it was no good. Sometimes, he had to put others ahead of himself, and this was such a situation.

"And even if you can't get your friendship back on track, then this will give some closure," added Dr. Park.

"Leni, his wife, suggested that I meet him halfway," said Luigi.

"That's even better," said Dr. Park. "If and when he decides to talk to you, don't be hostile and aggressive. Try not to talk at all. Just listen. Maybe that will help with your anger over the incident."

"Yeah," echoed Luigi. "Maybe."

"I appreciate you coming to us," said Dr. Mario. "I hope you make things right."

"I hope so, too," sighed Luigi. "Thanks for agreeing to see me."

"Anytime," the two doctors said in unison.

They watched gravely as Luigi left.

"Wow," gasped Dr. Park. "First, Luigi makes a new friend, then he's trying to keep him together, and now the friend is turning on him. Can it get any worse than this?"

"I'm scared to answer that," said Dr. Mario. "I fear it may only be the beginning."

"Why?"

"Fifteen years ago, I saw little Kirby push his friends away as he sank into despair. And then came the night I wish I can forget, when Luigi called me and I saw Kirby covered in…" Dr. Mario drew a shaky breath. "I had some colleagues of mine turn on me, as well, when word got out that I was a clone. They broke off contact with me and said I wasn't worth their friendship."

"You think Grant's gonna do the same to Luigi?"

"Either that or let his depression consume him without mending fences."

Dr. Park paled. "You don't mean…?"

"Kirby almost did. _I_ almost did."

"You WHAT?"

"That morning at the diner, I talked about contemplating it. Twice, I almost acted it out. Once, sitting in my office with my scalpel in my hand, and the second time while standing on the rooftop patio of the Smash Mansion. I honestly wondered how it would feel to just—fly. But after the mess with Kirby, I knew it was up to me to be one of the strong ones. It's part of my oath as a physician."

"The colleagues who stood you up—did you ever…"

"I figured that they weren't my friends after all," shrugged Dr. Mario, "but Grant—I know he and Luigi care deeply for each other. Which is why Luigi needs to let that hurt go, and soon."

"Practice what you preach, Doc," said Dr. Park.

"I still have their phone numbers." The admission came out of the blue.

"Then give them a call. If they talk to you, then that means they've seen their follies and want to apologize. A simple phone call will be a good start."

"Kris—thank you," Dr. Mario said softly.

"Of course," nodded Dr. Park.

Suddenly overcome with emotion, Dr. Mario stood up on his tiptoes and kissed his mentee on the nose!

Dr. Park blushed. "Doc…"

"I—I don't know why I did that," Dr. Mario said sheepishly. "It just feels like—I've been asleep for these past fifteen years and now suddenly—I'm awake."

Dr. Park bit her lip to contain a smile. "I—never thought I'd have that power."

"It seems—I've mentored you well," said Dr. Mario before bidding her good day and making a hasty exit.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 _ **Several hours later…**_

Gasping for breath, Luigi sat against the wall of the Training Room. He was completely wrung out, but he needed this before trying to talk to Grant again. Eyes closed, he emptied his Gatorade in a few deep swallows and used his shirt, which he'd discarded earlier, to wipe his face, neck and upper chest. Some Smashers had swung by as he attacked Sandbags, sparred with him for a few rounds and then left to see about their own matches. They knew in their hearts that he and Grant had a falling-out, and they were doing their duties as friends to help him cool off before he tried to make amends.

After the current song in his playlist finished, Luigi stood, paused his music, disconnected his phone from the audio jack and then sat back down against the wall. He pulled up his contacts and scrolled down to a number he hadn't dialed in a long time. Murmuring a Hail Mary, Luigi selected the number and hit "Call".

One ring.

Two rings.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Luigi sighed.

 _Hi, it's Grant. Sorry for not being available right now. Leave me a message, and I'll get back to you._

Beep.

"Hey, Grant. It's-a me, Luigi. I know we haven't spoken in a while, and the last time we did, it ended—badly. Part of me wants to hate you for what you said that day. Part of me wants to walk away from you and never look back. But—I've had time to think, and I realize how much stress you've been put under, so you probably didn't mean it. Not that I'm making excuses, but…" He paused. "Grant, I miss you. I miss _us_. I miss our friendship. I miss the man you used to be. I'm sitting here, trying to forgive you for that incident, and I just want you to know—I'm giving you a chance to make this right. Most people who hurt me are rarely offered that luxury. So please, when you get this, please—just call me."

He hung up, put his phone away and then pounded the wall in frustration. What in the Inferno was Grant up to? Surely, he had enough time on his hands to answer a call from his best friend!

"You know what? If that's how you wanna play it, fine," huffed Luigi, striding determinedly out of the Training Room and towards his motorcycle. He had only one destination in mind—

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

During the drive to Grant's place, Mario had calmed down slightly. He knew that visiting Grant out of anger would do him no good. It would harm, not help not only Grant's health and well-being but also his already-weakened relationship with Luigi. If he came barging into the house, screaming and accusing and ready to throw punches, would that motivate Grant to try and make things right? No. Driving down the street with the windows down and the radio on, the man in red allowed himself to think about what he was going to say to Grant and how he was going to get past his cocoon of hurt and self-pity. If he presented his case calmly, then Grant was more likely to see how much his words hurt Luigi than to get hostile and defensive.

Mario reached Grant's address before long and parked on the curb. He hopped out, locked the car, strode over to the front door and rang the bell.

To his surprise, it was Leni, not Grant, who answered the door. "Hi, Mario," she said flatly.

"Hi, Leni. Is Grant home? I need to speak with him," said Mario.

Leni adjusted her wide-brimmed straw hat. "Uh—he just—took off—somewhere," she replied, sounding flustered.

Mario picked up the storm signals almost instantly. "What's going on?" he asked. "Is everything okay?"

"Does everything _look_ okay to you?" Leni snapped back. Regaining her composure, she sighed, "I'm sorry I yelled. It's just—I can't…"

"Is there any place he where he goes to think?"

"The bridge in the park is one of them—but I don't think he went there."

Mario raised an eyebrow. "You think he went to get drunk?"

"Who knows anymore? He's becoming a stranger to me—and to the kids. I know I encouraged Luigi to make up with him, but now—I'm not so sure that's a good idea."

"Why not?" asked Mario. "What happened? Leni, please—you've got to tell me."

"It's nothing," Leni responded, a little too quickly. "Grant and I—we're working things out."

"Not to seem abrupt or rude, but it looks like you haven't made much progress," said Mario.

"I know. Between burying his parents, those freaks going free, and now…" She sighed and shook her head, her hat jostling in the process.

And that was when Mario saw.

"Leni," he gasped. "Please—could you—take off that hat for a moment?"

Leni froze. Then, resigned, she reached off and whipped off the oversized headgear. Smiling an easy smile, she explained, "I was playing ball with the kids. A few throws trumped my hand-eye coordination."

"I was practicing tennis with Luigi once," said Mario, "and he missed a swing and got a tennis ball straight in his face. It didn't leave something as bad as _that_ behind."

"Yes," said Leni, "because we weren't playing tennis. The ball we used was bigger than a tennis ball."

Mario bit down on his knuckles.

"What?" asked Leni. "It's not like the kids _meant_ to hit me with the ball. They're very good kids."

"And how about Grant? Did he participate in this game?" challenged Mario. "Or perhaps he decided to throw something other than a ball?"

"I—I…" Leni cleared her throat. "I have a casserole in the oven that's almost done. Talk to you later, M."

And then she closed the door, leaving Mario floored.

"What am I supposed to tell my bro?" he asked himself.

His phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Mario, it's Val. I presume you're looking for Grant?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I'm in the parking lot of some cheap motel—and I'm seeing his car parked right across from mine. The biggest piece of advice I can give right now is to let your brother handle it."

"And what if he can't?"

"M—I know how you're gonna react when you see this guy. He yelled at your baby bro and said this stuff to him, and now he's acting like a fool and showing no interest in patching things up even though he says he wants to. That protective side of you is gonna come out, and then…"

"You're d—n right it's gonna come out! I don't care what you say—I'm heading over there!"

"Mario…!"

But Mario hung up, jumped back into his car and peeled out.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

After hearing the same news from Val, Luigi had turned his motorcycle around and headed back to the Smash Mansion, knowing he was gonna lose it the second he walked in that motel room. So _that_ was why he missed his call! What was he doing there, anyway? He honestly didn't want to know.

Master Core was waiting for him as he steamrolled through the doors. "L, what's going on? Did you work things out with Grant?"

"He ignored my call because he's cavorting around in some _motel_ room!" answered Luigi.

"Who told you that?"

"My friend, Val."

"Then what are you doing back here?"

"If I walk in that hotel room, then chances are I'm gonna see something I don't want to see and then freak out," explained Luigi.

"What if I came with you?" suggested MC.

Luigi hesitated. "You—want to accompany me?"

"Yeah. Me and my son. We're godlike beings, remember? So, we're more than likely to get through to him."

Luigi smiled, his body relaxing. "Master Core—thank you."

"Don't mention it," replied MC. "Master Hand—could you come here for a minute?"

Master Hand appeared. "What's up?"

"You, Luigi and I are going to the hotel Grant is hiding out at," said MC. "Today, we're gonna clean up this mess. For good."

Master nodded. "Count me in," he said.

The three of them teleported off to the motel.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Mario had entered the building despite Val's best efforts and obtained Grant's room number from the friendly receptionist. Walking down the hallway to Grant's room, the moment seemed surreal. It was as if the universe was somehow in slow motion except for him and the most mundane sounds were amplified by a million, from his brown suede boots on the slightly worn carpet floor to the ice and vending machine nearby. With each step he took, a cold, foreboding feeling manifested itself in his gut and squeezed his bowels. His heartbeat was through the roof, kicking against his ribcage as his Adam's apple kicked against his neck. Pausing in his trek, he looked at the key the receptionist had been courteous enough to give him—being the face of Nintendo sure had its perks. Too bad Grant forgot this when he traipsed off here to try and hide from his problems!

Right at Grant's door, Mario suddenly couldn't move. He was tempted to turn around, head back to the Smash Mansion and live a lie—that Grant would eventually get over whatever he was going through and make amends with everyone. Maybe he'd checked into this room to clear his head, and nothing else. Sweating, Mario just shook his head, slipped the key into its slot and quietly pushed the door open.

The last time he'd done this, Luigi had been at his elbow, and they were at a hotel in Las Vegas. They'd walked into a VIP suite to a disgusting sight—a sight still in their heads close to a year later. Forcing the flashback away, Mario stealthily inched his way inside—only to once again be greeted by a familiar tune playing from an iPhone. Talk about déjà vu! The churning in his stomach stopped, the seizing in his bowels stopped—everything just stopped as cold anger crept its way into his being. This was a different song from last time, but he still knew it—from the night he, Peach, Yoshi, Rosalina and Corrine tagged along with Luigi to meet Grant and his family for the first time. After dinner, once the kids had been put to sleep, this song was among those which played as they danced and socialized in the backyard, watching the stars come out. But now, as Mario heard the flashlight salesman grunting and panting and moaning and saying these _things_ , betraying and defiling the sacred vows of marriage he took years ago, to _that_ song, he just lost it. Hollering in fury, Mario bounded deeper into the room and hurled a fireball at the back of Grant's head before he even knew he was there.

"What the…?" Grant was given no time to react as Mario grabbed him, yanked his sorry, naked [ _bleep_ ] out of the bed and punched him in the face, and then again and again as the lady scurried out of bed and began to pull on her clothes. She kind of knew this red-capped man; she'd played a few of his games, but she could tell by his temperament that something was really, really wrong!

Finally, the punches stopped, and Mario dumped Grant onto a chair, kicking him a few times in the solar plexus and then standing there, breathing heavily. By now, the lady was completely dressed and calmly gazing at the scene. She did not scream or plead.

"What seems to be the problem here?" she asked.

"Ma'am," Mario began, just as calmly, "did you know that this man was married?"

"What? No," gasped the lady in disbelief as Mario rummaged through the drawer and produced Grant's ring.

"I can explain…" started Grant.

"What's there to explain? I see what I need to know right here," Mario told him.

"I swear, this is not what it looks like," argued Grant. "I was relaxing and getting in some time to think when she came over and started hitting on me. She made me do this!"

"You idiot!" huffed the lady. "It was you who sidled up to where I was sitting and started making sweet talk!"

"Ma'am—you could've said 'no'," Mario said.

"Mascot or not—you're not pinning this on me!" the lady said defiantly.

"I'm not accusing you of anything…"

"Oh? You sure sound like it! The two of us were just talking, and then one thing led to another, and then BAM! He took advantage of me! I feel sorry for the missus bearing his name!"

"He has kids, too," said Mario, "and a dog."

The lady shook her head in disgust and grabbed her purse and other effects. "Jerk!" she thundered at Grant before storming out of the room.

Grant wore a sheepish look. "M—I know this looks bad…"

"This _is_ bad!" snapped Mario. "What's gotten into you? First you go off on my brother, and now this!"

"It's not that simple," argued Grant.

"Luigi misses you," said Mario. "He wants to make up with you and is willing to let your verbal beatdown slide. Don't you realize that he doesn't do that for everyone?"

"Very nice of him," Grant said hollowly.

"Don't get smart with me," warned Mario. "Believe it or not, I didn't plan to come here to rip you a new one. I came here to help."

"You can't help me."

"Yes, I can. Listen to me. When Luigi told me what happened, I was angry. I didn't think I could let that anger go, but I did. I'm taking the high road here—by forgiving you and giving you a chance to straighten this out. And I know you're sorry for yelling at him. I can see it in your eyes. What's stopping you from doing that?"

"I—don't know."

"L's patience is wearing thin on the matter—and so is Leni's. Oh, by the way, I hope you have an explanation for Luigi as to what I saw when I came to visit her. I went to your house, looking for you, and she answered the door wearing this big, floppy hat."

"It was an accident," Grant said quickly. "She was playing ball with the kids, and the ball…"

"Sure, it was the ball," eyerolled Mario. "Let's hope that story is plausible enough for my baby bro. Because he can't stand that kind of thing—and neither can I."

"I just had so many things happening at once!" cried Grant. "Getting arrested, those dogs going free, that letter…"

"What letter?" Mario broke in.

"Look in my jeans," said Grant. "Back pocket."

Mario pulled a slip of paper from the aforementioned article of clothing. "This?"

Grant nodded. "It's from them."

"So that was your excuse to…to…"

"I'm not making excuses. I just need you to understand what's been going through my mind lately."

"And I need you to understand that it's time to get your _cazzo_ together," said Mario, throwing Grant's clothes into his lap. "Clean up and make yourself presentable. You have some explaining to do and some apologies to make."

Once Grant was dressed, Mario led him out of the room, made him check out at the front desk, and emerged with him outside into the parking lot.

Luigi, Master Hand, Master Core and Val stood there, waiting.

"Well," smiled Mario, his blue eyes trained on Grant. "Looks like it's time to have a chat with your good friend."

 **Will things finally be sorted out? And what's in that letter? Stay tuned...**


	22. At Rest

**At Rest**

 **Give me one reason to stay here**  
 **And I'll turn right back around**  
 **Give me one reason to stay here**  
 **And I'll turn right back around**  
 **Said I don't want leave you lonely**  
 **You got to make me change my mind**

 **Baby I got your number and I know that you got mine**  
 **But you know that I called you, I called too many times**  
 **You can call me baby, you can call me anytime**  
 **You got to call me**

 **Give me one reason to stay here**  
 **And I'll turn right back around**  
 **Give me one reason to stay here**  
 **And I'll turn right back around**  
 **Because I don't want leave you lonely**  
 **you got to make me change my mind**

 **I don't want no one to squeeze me, they might take away my life**  
 **I don't want no one to squeeze me, they might take away my life**  
 **I just want someone to hold me and rock me through the night**

 **This youthful heart can love you and give you what you need**  
 **This youthful heart can love you and give you what you need**  
 **But I'm too old to go chasing you around**  
 **Wasting my precious energy**

 **Give me one reason to stay here**  
 **And I'll turn right back around**  
 **Give me one reason to stay here**  
 **And I'll turn right back around**  
 **Because I don't want leave you lonely**  
 **You got to make me change my mind**

 **Baby just give me one reason, Give me just one reason why**  
 **Baby just give me one reason, Give me just one reason why I should stay**  
 **Said I told you that I loved you**  
 **And there ain't no more to say**

 **-Tracy Chapman, "Give Me One Reason"**

 ** **Title of this chapter is based on a song by the royalty-free artist Kevin MacLeod. Listen to it while reading this chapter.****

* * *

Grant's throat was like a desert as he reluctantly stepped toward Luigi, and the plumber walked toward him. He saw the cold glint in his friend's eyes and surmised that Val had told him what he was up to. As for Val, Mario, Master Hand and MC, they stood back, deciding it unwise to intrude upon this moment between two estranged friends. The lot was empty, save for a few cars, and the activity in the vicinity was somewhat muted. The world had shrunk to just Grant and Luigi, the showdown at high noon.

The two finally met in the middle, regarding each other evenly. Grant swallowed as he drank Luigi in. His expressive face was one of the things which initially drew his interest, but now, it made him feel nervous. Blue eyes dressed him down and dredged up his secrets, knocking down his façade into a pile of plaster. Grant was really starting to regret his afternoon with the lady in that room. He had a wonderful life, and now he was throwing it to waste because he was feeling sorry for himself. And don't let Luigi find out what happened between him and Leni—

Luigi studied Grant as if they hadn't seen each other in years. Whatever was going through his mind—whatever anger he felt toward him—he knew it would be unwise to put it on display. It would only widen the rift between them. Instead, he spoke softly, gently, to Grant. "Hello, buddy. Fancy meeting you here."

"Hi, Luigi," Grant mumbled. "How've you been?"

"Oh, you know," Luigi said with seeming nonchalance. "Trying to get the words you said to me out of my brain, trying to find out what _motivated_ you to speak to me like that, trying to figure out whether I should hug you or deal a Super Jump Punch to your jaw."

"Luigi, I…" Grant cleared his throat. "I don't know what made me say that, but I didn't mean it. Not a syllable."

"That's what they all say," Luigi told him, "and days later, they strike again. And again and again and again until I'm broken. I never thought that you'd wind up doing that."

Grant hung his head in shame. "I'm not like them. I swear."

"Then prove it," challenged Luigi. "Do you mind telling me why your clothes are rumpled, and what you were doing in that motel room?"

Grant sighed, feeling Mario's eyes trained on him. He knew he had to tell the truth.

"I swear, it was only one time," he said finally. "I drove out here, needing a place to think. And I was relaxing and turning these past events over in my mind when this nice lady approached. She was beautiful and funny—looked almost like my Leni. Anyway, we got to talking, and we discovered we had so much in common. Neither of us had led an easy life. But then, she started—flirting with me. I mean, she was really turning on the seduction. And—I wanted—to say no—but—I—oh, for the love of mother and child, don't make me say it!" He sobbed into his hands.

Luigi observed stonily. "Of course," he said. "The woman gets blamed. So, I presume 'one thing led to another'?"

"Y-yes. And we went to this motel, and—J—s, I'm so ashamed of myself!"

"You should be."

"L," warned Master Hand. He didn't like the direction the conversation was going.

Luigi took a deep breath. "Please, continue," he said to Grant.

"We were really going at it—I think we were on the fifth or sixth time when Mario walked in on us. He was so angry—really read me the riot act—which is surprising coming from a guy who hasn't even committed to _his_ woman. What does he do, get off on rescuing damsels in distress?"

"Grant," admonished MC as he spotted both Mario Bros bristling.

"I'm sorry—I'm feeling kind of stressed," Grant hastily apologized.

"Stressed? Out of guilt, perhaps?" Luigi asked evenly. "If anyone should feel stressed, then it's me and Leni. Look at what you've put us through."

"I know, and I'm trying to figure out a way to make things right but—I just don't know how," sniffled Grant. "I guess I like listening to my evil side and ignoring my conscience."

"Or maybe you're reluctant to take responsibility for your actions," offered Luigi. "Wow, I can't believe this. What's Leni gonna think?"

"I don't know, Bro," Mario piped up. "Something interesting went down between the salesman and his wife beforehand."

Grant tensed.

"Grant—what is he talking about?" asked Luigi.

"Leni—and the kids—were playing ball. She wasn't quick enough for a few tosses, and her face paid the price."

Luigi listened, tight-lipped. He knew Grant was lying. "She pulled you from the deep waters, and this is how you thank her? I became your sounding board at the support group, and you thank me by lashing out?"

"I swear, I didn't mean it. I didn't know what I was thinking. It was like—it was like I was outside my body when it happened, a prisoner to this wickedness."

"Save the dramatics for when you explain yourself to her," Luigi said crisply. "You have four kids and a border collie, and you decide to hang out with a stranger. What is this—a midlife crisis?"

"I don't know. But I _do_ know that it will never happen again."

"Did you know that I tried to call you? Or were you too busy betraying your wedding vows to check your phone?"

"You—called?"

"Yes, and it went straight to voicemail. I put my heart on my sleeve in that voicemail, only to find out that you've run off to this hotel. I didn't want to believe what I suspected—but here we are. I—I just…"

Grant felt like an anvil had fallen on him. Yikes, he'd really messed things up.

"Why did you do it? Why did you take your issues out on me and Leni? Why did Mario walk in on you committing adultery? Why did you chose to react to adversity like this? Why?"

Luigi's voice softened. "I don't want to walk out on you, and neither does Leni. Why don't you let us help you—especially me? I've been failed by the justice system. I've been bullied and forced to suffer in silence. But I didn't take it out on my friends or on my Princess. You need to give me a reason to give you a second chance, and fast."

"I'm hurting."

"So am I—and so is Leni. You shouldn't hurt us just because you're hurting. Do you want us to hurt right along with you—is that what it is?"

Grant looked straight into Luigi's sparkling eyes and read the turmoil he'd caused by his arrest for beating up that innocent man, by his outburst in lockup, and by his shocking act of infidelity. The cloud of his self-pity began to clear, and he replayed the happy memories he had despite his turbulent life—landing his dream job, meeting his dream girl, starting a family—and finally crossing paths with the man in green, who understood him on a level none of his other guy friends did. Through the b.s. that had been thrown at him, Grant found his diamonds in the rough. For that, he overall loved his life—and he wanted to enjoy every second of it.

As the memories came flooding back, so did the joy and appreciation which had been absent since his parents' funeral. Desire to make things right swept over him. Eyes glistening with tears, Grant spoke the words which would initiate this process:

"Luigi—I'm sorry about everything. I'm sorry about what I said to you. I'm sorry I pushed you away. I've been a bit of an idiot, and I hope you can forgive me."

"You've been a complete idiot, and you know it."

Grant heaved a sigh. "You're right. I have. And I swear—I will make things up to you. Whatever it takes. I will fix what I have broken, and I will do it for the ones I love. And I swear, I will never throw our friendship in the trash again."

"I'm meeting you halfway," said Luigi. "I've made my move. Now, it's time to make yours."

Grant held out his hand. "I want to give our friendship another shot."

Luigi slipped his hand in Grant's. "So do I. I think this is a good start."

They shook hands as Mario, MC, Master and Val applauded.

"Come here, pal," choked out Grant, leaning in for an embrace. But Luigi gently deflected the gesture. He wasn't quite ready for that yet.

Grant was dejected, but he took it in stride. "I'm sorry. I know I must work to re-earn your favor."

"That's right. You do. And we both know what you have to do next, don't we?"

Grant nodded. He knew he needed to talk to Leni and the kids.

"Leave it to me," he vowed.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

It was slow going. Leni had answered the door with a stony expression and impassively took in Grant, bearing her favorite flowers, her favorite dessert, Burger King for the kids and Spirit's favorite dog treats. Her husband began by confessing his infidelity and admitting how selfish he'd acted recently, and then taking them on a trip down memory lane as he described how she'd given him true happiness and how he should've known better than to take it for granted. He expressed remorse for pushing her, the kids and Spirit away and vowed to enjoy what he had from this moment forward. But by and by, Leni felt her heart melting, once again seeing the broken, drowning man she'd met years and years ago. She couldn't stay angry at him. Grant felt himself relaxing as a sunny smile spread across Leni's face.

"I love you, Leni, and I'm sorry," finished Grant. "Can we start fresh?"

Leni cupped his face in her hands. "Sure," she replied, chastely kissing his lips.

"Dad!" squealed Alex, bounding onto the scene with his siblings following.

Grant squatted down and gathered his four kids for a big hug.

"Don't leave us, Dad! Please!" begged Shelia.

"I'll never leave you," promised Grant, wiping his daughter's tears.

Wild barking heralded the arrival of Spirit, who pounced on his master and assailed him with licks and doggie kisses.

"I miss you too, buddy," chuckled Grant.

Once Spirit calmed down, the family gathered for a big group hug. Master and MC had tears in their eyes as they watched.

"All's well that ends well," MC said heartily.

"You got that right," agreed Master.

After the group hug, Grant and Leni told the kids to wash their hands and get ready for dinner.

"Grant," said Luigi.

Grant turned. "Yeah?"

"I'll see you at the support group meeting tomorrow. We've got a lot to catch up on."

"You got it."

With a final smile and a nod, Luigi left the family to enjoy their reunion, with Master, MC and Mario following.

Everything was rearranging into its proper place.

…for now.

 **I just love reconciliations!**

 **Please R &R.**


	23. Out and In

**Out and In**

 **Watch out for a shocking twist!**

As part of his renewed commitment to Luigi, Leni, his kids and his dog, Grant ushered in major changes in his lifestyle. He cleaned his man-cave of alcohol and entered a 12-step program. He shaved and took care to exercise for at least an hour each day. A youthful glow returned to his skin, the sunken-in appearance evaporating almost overnight. He made sure not to bring any work home with him so he could spend more time with those in his inner circle, and he took his family out to dinner every weekend. He smiled more and deliberately avoided the things which made him sad and depressed. At his job, he really shocked his boss and his colleagues when he walked in well-rested, refreshed and ready to work. Also, he began standing up to those pushy supervisors. His workspace was adorned with family photos and pictures with Luigi, to remind him that he had a purpose in his life.

Finally came the day when the wiring on Danny's jaw was removed. The family celebrated with an outing at the amusement park, followed by a meal at Danny's favorite restaurant. Grant and Leni bought a swimming pool and Super Soakers to prepare for some summer fun. Every morning, Grant would rise, shave, dress and take Spirit for a refreshing stroll, stopping for 30 or so minutes of Frisbee in the park. He resumed helping the kids with their homework, lecturing them for bad grades, rewarding them for good grades and disciplining them for unacceptable behavior. When other kids at school gave them problems, Grant and Leni would meet with the parents of the other child and attempt to work out a compromise. Things were getting close to the way they were—but weren't exactly the same.

That being said, it was going to take a lot of effort and sacrifice on Grant's part to become mushy and buddy-buddy with Luigi again. The man in green kept their conversations formal in the beginning—a handshake, a friendly smile, an exchange of pleasantries. Grant would have freshly-prepared meals delivered to Luigi's room and put together home videos chronicling their friendship. He'd also show up at their support group in top form, eagerly engaging with Dr. Thorpe's activities. Luigi was touched. Grant wasn't like the others, who bombarded him with petty gifts and puppy-dog eyes to show their remorse. This man was going above and beyond to show that he was serious about this. Whenever he was about to lose his temper, Grant would always think about that fateful day in lockup and what happened with him and Leni. Instead of retorting and potentially hurting the other party's feelings, the salesman would simply walk away and cool off somewhere. He started planning getaways for him and Luigi, or for him and Leni, or for the family. He took a trip to Sarasaland and did a special sales pitch before Daisy's court. The tomboy was so impressed that she offered him an honorary position, which he agreed to think over.

In addition, Grant and his family paid more visits to the Smash mansion. They bore goodies aplenty for Kirby and a variety of seeds for the Villagers. Grant even offered relationship advice to Ryu, Cloud, Ness, Meta Knight and Pikachu. The salesman's continued presence in Smash further softened Luigi's feelings. The harsh words spoken to him had slowly but surely begun to dull. He loved it when they gathered in the lounge to listen to Grant tell family anecdotes, jokes and ghost stories. He also loved it when he allowed the younger Smashers to play with Spirit. But most of all, he loved glancing up during a heated battle and seeing Grant and his clan sitting in the stands, waving pennants and cheering for him. This was the main reason why the Smash Mansion became a frequent hang-out for Grant. He lived for the thrill of seeing Luigi in action, of seeing why so many people sang his Smash-related praises. By giving him his support along with the other fans, Grant hoped to completely mend things between them. It was nice to know that the nerf wasn't that big, too, but that's another story.

When he wasn't trying to get his relationship with Luigi back on track, Grant was keeping in touch with Val and Evelyn, and Evan and Mandy. He helped revise the design on Evelyn's wedding dress and recommended his favorite bakery for the wedding cake. The engaged couple were entertained with Grant's tales on his own wedding, the joy, the nervousness, the kerfuffles and the romance. Privately, Grant advised Val to surprise his bride-to-be with their honeymoon destination—but Val knew exactly what Evelyn had in mind. Grant would be a groomsman, Leni would be a bridesmaid and Danny volunteered to be the ring-bearer. The ceremony would be sweet, intimate and invitation-only, to be held at the park. MH and MC would help cover the wedding expenses, and they had an interesting minister in mind—

One night, Grant traveled to Midgar and helped put together a beautiful fireworks display as Cloud and Reflet enjoyed a picnic under the stars. The white-haired tactician should've known something was up, but was rendered nearly speechless as the ex-SOLDIER knelt and pulled out a ring.

"Smash was a whole new world, but you helped me fit right in," said Cloud. "It was you who taught me to open up and explore these crazy new universes. I wouldn't have befriended the Smashers so easily if not for you. Reflet—will you marry me?"

"Yes," Reflet managed to say, and Grant cued the grand finale as the duo kissed.

In a similar vein, Leni talked to Bayonetta about the Umbra Witch's feelings for Lucina and her competition with Palutena for her affection. Over a few glasses of wine, Leni talked about a guy she eyed long ago before meeting Grant, who was interested in another girl. After some introspection, Leni had come to realized that the best way to express her love was to let him go. So, Leni encouraged Bayo to let Lucina be happy with Palutena. Bayo was upset, but she took it in stride, wishing Lucy good luck and giving her and the Goddess of Light her blessing.

Things had never been better for Grant. Yet good fortune only lasted for so long—

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 _ **A week and a half later…**_

"I have something to show you all," Grant said as he sat with his support group. "Maybe it can—explain things."

"Go for it," said Dr. Thorpe.

Grant pulled out a piece of paper. "I got this letter shortly after the charges against me were dropped. There's no signature, but I know it's from them. What they wrote—is creepy. And that's why I acted the way I did. Not that I'm making excuses, but—I hope now it puts what happened into perspective."

Luigi leaned forward. "Did they—threaten you?" he asked.

"Yeah—you need to get protection—a restraining order—anything," added Caroline.

"Let me read it for you guys," said Grant. He cleared his throat and began:

"'We warned you, didn't we? We warned you that you weren't getting us out of your hair so easily. The police thought they had us, but they have nothing. Thanks to the government, we won't see the inside of a prison cell after telling the public the truth about your lousy parents. And let us tell you something else—the fun is just beginning. You need to remember that we'll always be with you, wherever you go, whatever you do. And we don't take kindly to people like you portraying us as criminals. So—we've got to do something special for you. We're going to come for you when you least expect it, just when you think you've gotten your happy ending. We just might come when you and your wife and your children are fast asleep in your beds. The stunt we pulled at the funeral service—that's going to look like nothing compared to what we have planned for you now. You'd better be ready'."

Verne spoke up. "I'll see if I can use the handwriting to track this creep down," he offered. It was the best he could do after nearly destroying Grant's friendship with Luigi. When he told the salesman that Luigi was spying on him, he did expect the guy to get angry and go off on a tear. He thought it was for his own good. God, don't let Luigi ever find out about his role in that drama.

"I have a better idea," said Eric. "Let's just ignore them."

"And take extra precautions," added Giulia. "Lock your doors and windows at night. Travel in a group. Stay vigilant while walking around. For what it's worth—my officers and I gave Howard and his buddies quite the scare before we released them—we let them know that despite their immunity, we'll always have our eyes and ears on them."

Grant chuckled. "Thanks, Giulia."

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" asked Luigi.

Grant looked down. "I don't know," he sighed. "I thought I could handle it, I guess."

"We all did," said Caroline, "and when we realized that we couldn't, we came here."

"Right you are, Caroline," said Dr. Thorpe. "Grant, we really missed you. Promise me that you'll never run out on us again."

"I promise. Cross my heart."

Dr. Thorpe smiled. "Thank you, Grant. Now, I would like you all to break into pairs…"

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

In an upscale estate in an undisclosed location, Maya, Howard and the gang's defense attorney, sat on a divan beside Tina, the woman who was with Grant in the cheap motel room. Both women sipped daintily from a glass of champagne as they faced their mysterious benefactor.

"I take it everything is according to plan?" said the benefactor.

"Indeed," smirked Maya. "Poor little Grant's life has been an emotional roller coaster after we paid off the court to dismiss the case against my clients. And you," she cooed to the gorgeous bombshell sitting next to her in a mini-dress, "certainly played your part to perfection. You should win an Oscar."

"I would've done it free of charge, to be honest," declared Tina with a toss of her head. "Couldn't say 'no' to a man as handsome as him."

"But I'm sure the 250 grand provided extra incentive, yes?" purred the benefactor.

"Mmm-hmm. There was a little wrinkle in the plan, but it means nothing."

"'Wrinkle' here having the meaning of…" prompted the benefactor.

"Mr. Nintendo caught us and went to town on Grant. I had to put on a show of how appalled I was after finding out that he was married before making good my escape. That stupid plumber doesn't know a thing!"

"And last I checked, Grant reconciled with our green-clad friend and his wife," said Maya in mock consternation. "Something must be done about it."

"Indeed," nodded the benefactor, if such a thing was possible, seeing that they had no head, or body, for that matter—just a giant, white-gloved hand with wriggling digits. "It's time to implement Phase Two of our plan."

"It's already been initiated," said Maya. "Grant has already received Howard's letter. The trick is—when and where to deliver the _piece de resistance_. In his house, as his wife and kids watch helplessly before falling victim to a similar fate? Or a place where no one can hear him scream?"

"Trust me, I know just the place," laughed the benefactor. "Howard and his guys—they know what to do, yes?"

"They've gotten this far, haven't they?"

"And I appreciate that. Just as I appreciate you and Tina's genius and cunning."

"Ditto," said Tina, raising her glass.

Maya sighed contentedly, gazing lovingly at Tina. "Just imagine," she said softly. "In a matter of time, we'll bring that pesky flashlight salesman tumbling down to his very foundation—and taking Luigi right along with him! And the best part—no one will ever suspect that we had a hand in their downfall. Except the author and her readers, of course."

And as the two women kissed, the benefactor turned and gave the stunned and floored readers a distinctively smug look.

"I'm back, [ _bleeps_ ]," he announced before starting to giggle wickedly.

 **I'll see myself out now...**


	24. Interlude: Wedding Bells

**Wedding Bells**

 ** _Val's POV_**

 **My hands shake slightly as I pin the flower onto the right lapel of my tuxedo jacket. Once I get it in place, I smile at my reflection in the mirror. A handsome, sophisticated, lovesick groom smiles back at me. My hair is slicked back, my eyebrows recently trimmed, my face freshly shaven. I'm dressed in a green, button-down shirt with a darker green vest, a checkered green tie and an olive-colored blazer and slacks. To complete the look, I place an iconic green cap on my head at a smart angle. Perfect.**

 **"Val?" asks a voice.**

 **"Coming," I say as I spray on some cologne, strap on a watch and exit the dressing room.**

 **Luigi, my best man, waits for me, a huge smile on his face. "Ready?"**

 **"Ready."**

 **This is it. The big day. I'm marrying my pen pal, my partner in crime. My heart settles into a brisk rhythm as we hop in a limo and drive to the Smashville park, where the guests slowly trickle in. Luigi and I exit the limo and take our places under the arch, where the groomsmen have already assembled. Grant gives me a little wave. I'm so glad he's gotten his act together—and that he holds no hard feelings over my spying on him. Maybe he's realized that I was just trying to help. But now's not the time to talk about it.**

 **"I'm a little nervous," I confess.**

 **"Hey," says Evan, another of my groomsmen. "So was I."**

 **"I was nervous about popping the question to Reflet," adds Cloud, "but I had some help from Grant."**

 **"What can I say? I'm a natural romantic," shrugs Grant as Reflet blushes.**

 **"Congratulations," I say with a broad smile. "I've rooted for you since the beginning."**

 **"Aww—thanks, Val," smiles Reflet, "but today is all about you—and Evelyn. Best of luck to you both."**

 **I nod. "Thank you."**

 **We watch as the park continues to fill with wedding guests…**

* * *

 _ **Evelyn's POV**_

 **My "something old" is my dressy Luigi outfit. I can't believe it still fits!**

 **My "something new" is a pair of green ballet flats.**

 **My "something borrowed" is a Power Star on a sterling silver chain, courtesy of Rosalina.**

 **My "something blue" is an Ice Flower barrette. It goes great with my blonde locks.**

 **I smile at my costumed self. Why didn't I think of this sooner? Instead of spending money on a wedding gown, why not get hitched dressed as my favorite man in green? I'm still wrapping my mind around the fact that this is really happening. Last year, when I found out that he had his eye on a special lady, I thought he'd become the one that got away. Turns out, that special lady was me! I sit at my makeup table and doll my face up. I can't wait to see Val in his tux, beaming at me.**

 **As I slip into my white gloves and fix my green cap, a booming voice calls, "Evelyn? It's time."**

 **I emerge from my dressing room to see Master Hand floating there, a large collar with a bow tie around his wrist. "MH? You're not officiating?"**

 **"I've never walked anyone down the aisle before," he confesses.**

 **"Then who's the minister?"**

 **MH winks. "You'll find out when you get there."**

 **He offers me his thumb, and I loop my arm around it.**

 **"Let's do this," I say.**

* * *

 _ **Val's POV**_

 **The park falls silent as the orchestra plays Pachelbel's "Canon in D Minor". Mandy, the matron of honor, waddles down the aisle, dressed in green and bearing a bouquet of hibiscus. She's followed by the rest of the bridesmaids: Leni, Peach, Daisy, Rosalina, Palutena, Lucina, Pink Villager and Samus.**

 **Finally, the guests rise, and "Here Comes the Bride" replaces "Canon in D Minor" as Evelyn begins her walk down the aisle.**

 **She's gorgeous. An Ice Flower is pinned to her flowing blond hair, not concealed by that familiar cap. The costume she's wearing brings back so many memories of the gaming conventions we've attended together, and it looks nicely pressed. Her face is one of the most beautiful faces I've ever gazed upon, and she smiles at me, so full of love. Her arm is entwined with Master Hand's thumb, and the glove is puffed up like a proud father. I like to imagine that he has a fatherly relationship with all his Smashers.**

 **Evelyn and MH reach the altar, where my bride stares goggle-eyed at the minister. I'm still trying to get over the shock myself. "But—how…"**

 **"I took some online courses," Cerena Cydney Sparks explains. "I was ordained a few weeks ago. Now, who gives this woman to be wed?"**

 **"I do," MH responds. "The Hand of Creation." He pats Evelyn on the hand as she joins me.**

 **"Dearly beloved," begins Cerena. "We are gathered here today to witness the joining of this man, Valentine O'Halloran, and this woman, Evelyn Fisk, in holy matrimony. If there is anyone who can show just cause as to why these two should not be joined, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."**

 **Luckily, nobody speaks up.**

 **"Evelyn," says Cerena. "Do you take Valentine to be your lawfully wedded husband, for richer or poorer, for better or worse, in sickness and in health? Will you love him, honor him, comfort and keep him, as long as you both shall live?"**

 **"I do," replies Evelyn.**

 **"Valentine—same question."**

 **"What she said," I respond.**

 **"Rings, please," says Evelyn.**

 **Danny comes forward with the rings on a plush pillow.**

 **I slide my great-grandmother's ring onto Evelyn's finger. "With this ring, I thee wed."**

 **Evelyn slides the other ring, her great-uncle's, I believe, onto my finger. "With this ring, I thee wed."**

 **We join hands as Cerena proclaims, "By the power vested in me by the Smash World and the Nintendo universe, I hereby pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."**

 **So I do.**

* * *

 ** _Evelyn's POV_**

 **Mrs. Valentine O'Halloran.**

 **I feel like I'm walking on soft pillars of air as the band plays the wedding march and I head down the aisle with my new husband. The guests applaud and scatter flower petals over us. My jaws ache from smiling so much. I seem to float inside the limo, and Val gets in after me. Off we go to the reception.**

 **En route, we steal sweet kisses and caresses, and Val fondles me. I'm panting and flushing as he fumbles at the Velcro holding my outfit together before deciding that it would be easier to dip a hand inside my skirt and then—**

 **But that will have to wait until the wedding night. We arrive at the Smash mansion for the reception.**

 **Inside, the five-tired wedding cake sits at a table, decorated with Stars and Super Mushrooms. It's a chocolate cake, with raspberry filling. As the guests crowd around us, Val and I cut the cake and feed each other forkfuls of it before smearing some icing over the other's face. We promptly lick off the icing with a French kiss.**

 **Champagne is poured, and as we take our seats at the tables, Luigi, the best man, delivers his toast.**

 **"I met the happy couple at a very strange time in my life," he says. "It didn't take me long to pick up on their attraction. Their love for each other is definitely stronger than their love for me. This is a man and a woman who will walk through fire for each other, a couple who won't let petty squabbles distract from their devotion. These two are a team, and I have faith that they'll clear even the hardest levels together and beat the final bosses they face." He raises his glass. "To Val and Evelyn!"**

 **"To Val and Evelyn!" Everyone else raises their glass as Val and I gaze lovingly at each other.**

 **After guzzling down some cake and bubbly, Val and I take to the floor for our first dance. He holds me close, and I savor the feeling of his chest against mine, following his footsteps and gliding in time to the music. I fall fast into his eyes, his face, as our foreheads touch, our shared feelings radiating from each other. It feels so good.**

 _ **To really love a woman  
To understand her - You gotta know her deep inside  
Hear every thought - See every dream  
And give her wings when she wants to fly  
Then when you find yourself lyin' helpless in her arms  
You know ya really love a woman**_

 ** _When you love a woman_**  
 ** _You tell her that she's really wanted_**  
 ** _When you love a woman you tell her that she's the one_**  
 ** _'Cause she needs somebody_**  
 ** _To tell her that it's gonna last forever_**  
 ** _So tell me have you ever really_**  
 ** _Really, really ever loved a woman?_**

 ** _To really love a woman - Let her hold you_**  
 ** _'Til ya know how she needs to be touched_**  
 ** _You've gotta breathe her - really taste her_**  
 ** _'Til you can feel her in your blood_**

 _ **And when you can see your unborn children in her eyes**_ _ **  
You know you really love a woman**_

 ** _When you love a woman_**  
 ** _You tell her that she's really wanted_**  
 ** _When you love a woman you tell her that she's the one_**  
 ** _'Cause she needs somebody_**  
 ** _To tell her that you'll always be together_**  
 ** _So tell me have you ever really_**  
 ** _Really, really ever loved a woman?_**

 ** _Oh - You got to give her some faith - Hold her tight  
A little tenderness - Ya gotta treat her right  
She will be there for you, takin' good care of you  
You really gotta love your woman_**

 _ **Then when you find yourself lyin' helpless in her arms**_  
 _ **Ya know you really love a woman**_

 ** _When you love a woman_**  
 ** _You tell her that she's really wanted_**  
 ** _When you love a woman you tell her that she's the one_**  
 ** _'Cause she needs somebody_**  
 ** _To tell her that it's gonna last forever_**  
 ** _So tell me have you ever really_**  
 ** _Really, really ever loved a woman?_**

 ** _Yeah - Just tell me have you ever really_**  
 ** _Really, really ever loved a woman?_**  
 ** _Oh-Just tell me have you ever really_**  
 ** _Really, really ever loved a woman?_**

 **Val twirls and dips me a few times, and it's so exhilarating. My life seriously can't get better than this. Dancing to this Bryan Adams song with a guy I'd known before I even saw his face. All I see is him, even as other couples hit the floor.**

 **"I finally found you," I whisper.**

 **"I finally found** _ **you**_ **," Val retorts.**

 **After sharing many kisses and dances, it's time to depart for our honeymoon. With three expert swings of my arm, I toss my bouquet into the crowd of ladies. The Wii Fit Trainer leaps high and catches it like a ball. She's met with congratulatory squeals and pats on the back.**

 **Val and I climb back into our limo, which whisks us away to our honeymoon suite. My body is stimulated just thinking about what we're going to do tonight.**

 **I sigh contentedly and lay my head on Val's broad shoulder.**

 **Mrs. Valentine O'Halloran—**

* * *

 **Heck breaks loose next chapter.**


	25. Flashpoint

**Flashpoint**

 **Advisory: Smut and shocking twists ahead!**

 _ **Three weeks later…**_

"…and that's why the Illumina X 9500 should be _the_ flashlight brand for today's work and play," said Grant.

The presentation was met with applause from his wife and kids.

"Really, though," said Grant. "How was it?"

"It was good," said Leni. "You got kind of monotone in the middle, but I think you effectively sold these flashlights to me."

"You've got a lot of magnetic charm, Dad," added Nora. "They won't be able to say no."

Grant preened at the compliments. He was currently practicing a sales pitch for the Smashville Hardware Gala he'd been invited to. The gala would take place tomorrow night and feature top Fortune 500 companies whose interests lay in what Grant had to sell. But he'd also be pitching products alongside other salespeople across the Nintendo multiverse! He'd never attended such a gala before, and he considered it a great honor. Now that he'd cleaned himself up and pieced himself back together, he felt confident over the potential buyers he'd help attract.

"I'm still a little nervous," he confessed.

Leni came over and kissed him on the cheek. "Don't sweat it," she said. "Just be yourself. Oh, by the way, did you invite…?"

"Yup," nodded Grant.

"What did he say?"

"He said he'd think about it," replied Grant, "and given what happened between us, I didn't press the matter. But I could hear in his voice that he wanted to say 'yes'."

"Nobody said it was gonna be easy," sighed Leni, "but if _I_ can forgive you, then I'm sure he can, too."

"I know. But what I did to you was worse…"

She shushed him. "It happened. There's no sense in talking about it anymore," she said softly. "L, however, has had many people taking advantage of his forgiveness. He wants to make sure that you're not among them."

"I'm not, nor will I ever be."

She slid her arms around his neck and kissed his lips. "L and I—we both know. And so do the kids." She kissed him again, deeper this time.

"Yuck!" cried Alex, wearing a grossed-out expression.

"Uh—kids, could you relax in your rooms for a bit?" asked Grant.

"Okay," said Nora, escorting her siblings upstairs.

Once the door closed after them, Grant picked up his wife, her legs wrapped around his torso, and carried her to the master bedroom, where they wasted no time getting each other naked. Leni gasped deeply as Grant's hand plunged inside her, warmth quickly spilling over his fingers as he sensually moved his hand, and later his fist, in and out. He observed her face, her breasts, her body as he knelt before her, doing wonderful and naughty things to her with his fist.

"God, Grant," she grunted as she bucked into his fist, which increased pace in response. He planted his mouth on her skin and moved it down her body, kissing and licking, his arm pumping deeper, faster, until she started to shudder. "I—I'm gonna…" She propped herself up on her palms, head thrown back, staring at the ceiling as pleasure seized her body. Her hips twisted and jerked, her torso and abdomen pistoned and her chest heaved. "Aaaaaahhhh—Gra-a-a-a-a-nt…"

He slid the hand out and slid his tongue along the moist, glistening area, allowing it to caress both folds. The tongue glided between the lips, the entrance to the crevice, up and down, up and down, until it boldly dove in. Leni went crazy at the feeling of Grant's burrowing, undulating tongue in her core. He placed the palms of his hands on the small of her back, lifting her hips for better access. She thrummed beneath his touch. The bundles and nerves along her muscles danced as his tongue stimulated them. He worked her walls with the tongue, flicking it about them. Licking and sucking at one place for a few minutes before moving somewhere else. It wasn't long before she was pulsing. He could feel the liquid heat welling up like a volcano. Slick walls and muscles writhed about his mouth. Her skin was sweaty now. Her body was jerking. Her voice was chanting litanies. Her breathing, heavy. He looked up from his ministrations and saw her, a beautiful sheen covering her body, her abdomen weaving, her eyes closed, her mouth open. Mouth and tongue continued their relentless game till her lower body began twitching to and fro in a slight corkscrew motion.

Leni couldn't speak—only gasps leaving her lips at the rolling, sliding, undulating tongue. It seemed to be everywhere in her. She lurched, arched her back and spasmed. She felt her world spin. Her being and her soul was being ministered to by this tongue and this mouth. An all-consuming wave started there and moved up to her erratic hips, to her belly, up and up her body. She held back the wave until she didn't think she could take it anymore, when she had no choice than to just open the floodgates and let it come rushing out. But the now winding and swirling tongue had other plans.

His wife's inner muscles were about to invade Grant's senses, so he licked and lapped for about ten more minutes before slowly curving his tongue up and down each swollen wall, and then again, and then circling the tongue at an even slower pace, making six good revolutions and ensuring that she was flopping on the bed before slowly withdrawing his tongue.

She was breathing in stutters. Stutters which increased as he kissed her on and between her domes, slow kisses which led to wrapping his mouth around said domes. Alternating between left and right until she was positively a mess. He allowed her to recover slightly as he fetched a bottle of cocoa butter. She loved it when he brought out the cocoa butter.

Grant straightened, straddled her hips and squeezed the cocoa butter onto her skin. First, two squiggles down her neck. Then, one long squiggle down each arm. Three on her chest. A swath of cocoa butter between her breasts and on to her abdomen. Several squiggles circled each breast. A small dollop topped the buds. Crisscrossing squiggles along her ribs. And a smiley face on her stomach. After he closed the bottle, he began to massage the cocoa butter in. She lay limp on the bed as he worked, feeling his hands travel southward. Her abs felt so nice beneath his palms. So did her breasts as he cupped them, massaging and fondling from underside to tip. Throughout this massage, her belly heaved up and down, especially when he got to her hips. He traced her waistline with creamy fingers before cocking his head to stare at her moisture-beaded mound. So, he squirted a generous amount of cocoa butter onto one hand, got both palms nice and saturated and then…

Leni bit back a scream as her husband stroked her mound with his right hand while going for her already-stimulated folds with his left. There was this tingling heat suffusing the entire area, increasing with each motion of the hands. One finger slid back into the slick, swollen core; it beat against the digit like a second heartbeat. He smiled up at his wife, now unable to even vocalize, just simply gasp inarticulate things as he kept driving the finger in her favorite spot. He placed kisses on her slightly parted lips before kissing all over her cocoa-butter-slathered body, the stuff doing its job and amplifying the sensations of his mouth on her skin. He watched her face, her flushed cheeks, her dilated eyes, her arching neck, and when he saw that she was close, he moved down to where his hands still ministered, placed his mouth between the splayed fingers of his left hand, rounded his lips slightly and inched his tongue back in.

The tongue moved slowly at first, and then faster and faster until it was in synch with the rubbing and stroking. He heard the erratic breathing and felt the violently shuddering body. Walls rippling like seismic waves. She was balanced on the edge, and he was going to tip her over, one centimeter at a time.

"Please…" she managed, her body overloaded with sensations. This was even better than the times they conceived their four children. She closed her eyes and bit into her pillow.

"Soon," he cooed to her, working his tongue past his fingers to join that one finger in sliding up and down her core.

"Gaaahhhh…"

Just now, Grant was conscious of his own aching and throbbing. His head started bobbing up and down as he licked with fervor.

"God…"

He let his imagination run, thinking about how her receptacle would feel. Just the thought made both hands and mouth go wild. Finally, he decided that it was time and willed them both to stop. Then, he aligned himself with her body, pec-to-breast, stomach-to-stomach, and lightly pillowed himself atop her before entering her.

She threw her arms around him, caressing his back, as he thrust excitedly in her. She was surprised that her body didn't unravel right then and there. He was big, long, thick, warm and stout, and she could focus on nothing but each piston into her, letting out everything that had plagued her since their reconciliation. Her hips rocked and rolled to keep pace with his, and she felt herself squeezing him, tighter and tighter.

"L-L-Leni, I…" stammered Grant, struggling to conjure up a cogent thought as his lower body spasmed, slamming himself deeper and deeper. "Uunh—I love you…"

"Nngh! I love you, too!" spluttered Leni.

"I knew I took you for granted, and—I'm sorry!"

"Oh, Grant! I'm sorry, too! I shouldn't have pushed!"

"D-don't be!" The spasms increased, and he was talking through pants. "If you hadn't pushed, then I probably wouldn't be here."

"Ah! Ahhhh…" Leni's vision was whiting out at the feeling of their hips crashing together like the waves of a turbulent ocean. "You're—I—I can't—I'm gonna…"

That was Grant's cue to give everything he had left. Ecstatic, relentless strokes as he let his own tension out. Her skin, sliding against his. Her hips, jerking and swiveling. Her sweat painting her form. She was the most beautiful woman in the world. He took his love for her and held it in—just held it in until he couldn't take anymore, until the ache was irresistible and unbearable and he just had to let go—he just had to…

And he did, fifteen or so minutes later, after one last slam of his hips. He erupted like a volcano, his love spurting into her, his body jolting and jerking and his breaths uneven. Ninety seconds in, she, too, erupted, squirting her love all over his lower body. The thick, pulsing streams seemed to go on for half an eternity. Finally, with one deep sigh, Grant spilled out the last of his love, and the spouses lay there in nirvana, smiling lovingly.

They failed to notice Nora, trying to pick up her jaw from the floor as she scurried back to her room.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Master Hand sat in his office, going over some paperwork, when he heard a knock.

"Come in," he said.

The door opened, and Luigi stepped in, looking better than he did weeks ago.

"Hi, L," said Master.

"Hey," replied Luigi.

"Some G for your thoughts?" offered Master.

"Grant is going to that hardware gala tomorrow night, and he invited me," explained Luigi. "Should I go?"

"Do you want to go?"

"Of course I do. But—there's something holding me back."

"Ah. I see what you mean."

"I lay awake at night, and I hear his words," Luigi said softly. "It's like one of the Bennigan Brothers said them."

"He wants to make up for it," said Master Hand.

"It doesn't change the fact that he said them."

"Did you talk to him about this?"

"He's back in a stable place. Bringing it up will disrupt that."

"L, you need to get this off your chest," said Master. "Discussing this with him will make you feel better."

"What if it doesn't? What if he gets all defensive and says something worse?"

"I think he's learned from his mistakes," Master Hand assured him. "Let me tell you something else: that gala is a big thing. Grant will be measured against the other salespeople who've come there to pitch. Truly a nerve-wracking experience. Being there will help him, don't you think?"

"Yeah," said Luigi. "It will."

"Your presence will also encourage him to continue making amends," Master went on. "If you don't show up, he'll probably get the feeling that you don't have faith in him, so he won't bother trying to stay clean. You know what I'm saying?"

Luigi grinned. "Thanks, MH!"

"No problem."

With that, Luigi exited Master Hand's office and called Grant.

"Yeah?" said Grant.

"I've made up my mind," said Luigi. "I'm going."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

In an undisclosed location, a group of men conferred with a mysterious floating hand sporting wriggling digits.

"Is everything in its proper place?" he asked.

"Yes, it is, just the way you asked," Howard, one of the men, contritely replied.

"I knew I could count on you," said the hand.

"And we knew we could count on you to help us get our revenge on _him_ ," smiled Howard. "That'll show him to sic the police on us."

"But remember—it's not just Grant we're after," said the hand.

"We know, we know," whined the men in unison. "We're ultimately gonna destroy Luigi, too."

"Repayment for freeing you from that endless void and all that good stuff," eyerolled Howard. "You scratch our backs, so now we're scratching yours."

"Aw, don't think of it that way," said the hand in a singsong voice. "Think of it as an exchange of favors between friends. You aren't indebted in any way. I'm helping you because I _want_ to help you."

"And we're helping you because we _want_ to help you," nodded Howard, "as does our attorney. I hear you two go way back."

"That's classified," the hand said smartly. "Take care of Grant first, and I'll tell you the whole story."

"I must say—this gala couldn't have been a more fortuitous circumstance," smiled Howard. "The perfect opportunity to spring our little surprise."

"So, you all know what to do, right?" asked the hand. "You won't let me down, right?"

"We've already gone this far, so how can we let you down?" asked Howard. "Plus, we've got Maya's wit and genius to thank. She's overseen the whole shebang, and she's very passionate about all of this."

"And so are you," said one of the other men. "You mince no words regarding how much you hate Grant."

"Grant is merely a toy we can amuse ourselves with," said Howard, "but Luigi—we can fracture and twist him into something unrecognizable."

"Indeed," nodded the hand.

"The trail must not be countenanced," Howard went on. "Luigi must be educated, and we will use Grant to accomplish that."

"You think so much like me," complimented the hand.

"That's because I had excellent teachers," smiled Howard. "Too bad they're in prison now."

"Yeah," sighed the hand. "They were excellent colleagues of mine. Luigi hates their name and what they stand for, but we'll execute this plan in their name."

"We'll instruct him in the matters of loss and pain," hissed Howard. "We'll make him suffer—make him wish he were dead. And then we'll grant his wish."

"Whoa, whoa! Slow down!" cried the hand. "There will be no bloodshed here! Besides, it will be better for him to live out his last days friendless and miserable, yeah?"

Howard shrugged. "Maybe you're right."

"The cunning warrior attacks neither body nor mind," said the hand.

"Then what should we attack?" asked Howard.

"The heart, my friends!" announced the hand. "First, we attack his heart!"

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 _ **The next evening…**_

The Smashville Hardware Gala was a much-anticipated annual event held at the Smashville Grand Ballroom. The Villagers pulled out all the stops on this occasion, printing out advertisements, offering free or cheap parking and putting up enough lights and banners to make the ballroom visible within a fifteen-mile radius. They had a limo service pick up the presenting salespeople and their families from their homes and drive them straight to the gala and back. There was a catering service which made sure they never ran out of food. And there was music from DJs and live bands to appeal to the younger crowd.

One of the limos arrived at the ballroom's entrance. A valet stepped forward and opened the passenger door, and Grant emerged, confident and professional, dressed in a James Bond-inspired suit and tie. After him was Leni, wearing a ravishing bubble-gum pink gown with a provocative slit up her thigh. Next were the two boys, Danny and Alex, in matching tuxedoes, and finally Nora and Shelia, clad in poufy-sleeved princess dresses. Nora's was bright yellow, while Shelia's was sky blue.

"Just so you'll know," said the valet, "there's a Kid's Area for when the presentations begin."

"Don't worry," smiled Grant. "They've seen me pitch before. If anything, they'll just fall asleep."

Once inside the ballroom, Grant's eye fell upon a face he wanted to see. "L!" he cried, approaching his friend, attired in his usual suit, green vest and tie.

Luigi smiled. "Hey, Grant," he said. "You look like a man on a mission."

The two men shook hands, and then something occurred to Grant.

"L, did you invite people from our support group to come? I think I'd like that."

"I didn't have to. I saw Verne, Caroline and Giulia a while ago."

"Thank you for being here. It means a lot."

"Don't mention it. I'm honored to be at your first gala pitch." Luigi clapped a hand on Grant's shoulder. "Wanna grab something to eat?"

"Sure."

Leni and Daisy caught up with them, the kids trailing behind.

"Sorry," said Leni. "The two of us just got caught up in some girl talk."

They all went to the buffet, where Caroline, Eric, Verne, Giulia and some of the other support group members sat with Yoshi, Peach, Mario, Rosalina, Corrine, Corrin, Link, Zelda, Lucina and some of the other Smashers.

A hostess approached them. "Drink?" she asked.

"Not until after the presentation," replied Grant, "but maybe for my friends."

"So," said Mario. "This must be very huge for you."

"It is," nodded Grant. "I worked my butt off to get to this moment."

"Nice to see you're back on track. Way to go; you're number one!"

"You, Luigi and Leni are _my_ number one. If it weren't for your intervention…"

"I get it," Mario said quietly.

"Thank you," Grant said sincerely.

"Okay, just don't get too mushy, because the next time you slip up like that, that…" Mario remembered the kids and swiftly rephrased himself. "…derriere is mine."

"If you get to him first," Peach chimed in.

"Oh, yeah," Grant said to the Princess. "I know not to get on your bad side." He'd heard stories of how the Mushroom Princess had pounced on Smash's former assistant master of ceremonies with her frying pan and her Parasol.

"But can we stop talking about that?" offered Peach. "Tonight is your special night, Grant. Let's not waste it talking about glum stuff."

"Amen," said Leni.

As they talked, Bayonetta was passing them when her eye suddenly fell on Giulia. Curls the color of oak, plump lips, a winning smile and a curvy body beneath a one-shoulder dress, smoky-colored makeup accentuating her dazzling eyes. The Umbra Witch's heart thundered in her chest as she drank in the police officer. She just _had_ to say hello!

As for Giulia, her policewoman instincts kicked in as she sensed someone watching her, and she turned to see Bayo striding toward her. Ethereal, slender, long, midnight-black hair and a form-fitting dress with a cut-out on both sides of her abdomen. The rest of the dress was sheer enough to offer a glimpse of the body underneath.

"Hello," said Bayo when she reached Giulia.

"Hi," replied Giulia. "You must be Bayonetta."

"I am," purred Bayo, "and you must be Giuliana."

"Please, call me Giulia."

"Very well, Giulia. Do you mind if I sit with you?"

"Not at all," smiled Giulia.

Bayo made herself comfortable next to Giulia and looked her over. "Where are you from? She asked.

"Las Vegas, Nevada. And you?"

"Not from this world. You see, I hunt angels."

"Why? Angels are good, right?"

Bayo smiled. "It's a long story. Perhaps I could tell it to you later tonight at my place?"

"My place is closer," offered Giulia. "Some angel must've done something to you to make you want to hunt them down. But I hunt down criminals for a living, and I have a bit of a personal grudge against them, too. Especially bullies."

"You were bullied? So was I," Bayo told her.

She heard a gasp and swiveled around to face the other occupants of the table.

"Excuse us," she said smartly. "My new friend and I need to speak in private."

She rose and offered her hand to Giulia, who took it as she also stood. The two women headed off together.

"Hey, uh…" Corrine cleared her throat. "If you don't mind, Grant, Rosa and I can take the kids home and watch them if they get tired."

Grant grinned. "Thanks, Corrine."

Elsewhere, Bayo and Giulia found a table of their own and sat down.

"Did an angel bully you?" asked Giulia.

"It's nothing, really," said Bayo, "but when I first started Smashing, I was accused of being a bit—overpowered. I was even banned from tournament play in Spain. A lot of Smashers didn't hesitate to speak their minds about it."

"Who?" asked Giulia, her eyes narrowing.

"I have no idea, because they complained to Master Hand, not me. None of them dared say anything to my face. But if you played any of _my_ games, then you know that I was already toned down when I arrived in the tournaments. You know my Torture Attacks, yes? And what I did to finish off my battle with Joy?"

"Ugh—yeah, in Smash, you're relatively tame," agreed Giulia.

"Anyway, the majority had their say, and I was nerfed in patch 1.1.6." Bayo spread her hands. "Didn't stop me."

"Bayo, you need to stop acting like it didn't bother you," said Giulia, sliding a card forward. "This is the contact information for Dr. Emily Thorpe, the leader of our support group. Give her a call as soon as you can."

"Thanks, Giulia," smiled Bayo, "but like I said, it was nothing. L had it worse, in retrospect. His nerf was part of a conspiracy. Mine wasn't." Her face softened. "What's your story?"

"When I was a kid, my sister, Bella, and I were picked on for being Italian-Americans and for having two dads. I thought Bella was so strong because she stood up for me as well as for herself, but—she wasn't. Sometimes, I stood up for her more. It only got worse when we grew up. That's why I decided to work in law enforcement. But Bella—she dropped out of college and sank into depression. The harassment followed her wherever she went. I couldn't protect her. And she…"

Bayo rubbed her back. "You don't have to say anymore," she said. She understood.

Giulia smiled gratefully at Bayo. "Buy you a drink?" she asked.

"Sure," replied Bayo.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"…and then she stepped on the ball!" Rosalina finished to peals of laughter.

"Man, oh, man!" gasped Daisy. "That joke never gets old!"

Nora frowned. "What is she talking about?" she asked.

Leni put an arm around her. "You'll understand when you're a little older," she assured her daughter.

A voice came over the PA. "All presenters, please report to the stage area. All presenters, please report to the stage area."

Grant rose. "I guess that's my cue," he said.

Leni kissed his lips. "Break a leg, sweetie," she said.

"Knock em dead!" Luigi chimed in.

"We know you can do it!" called Daisy.

Grant flashed a smile, gave a thumbs-up, and went to join the other presenters. So focused was he on psyching himself up that he wasn't paying much attention to what was in front of him until—

"I am so sorry!" he apologized after nearly crashing into a woman wearing a Mardi Gras mask.

"Thank God I found you!" gasped the woman. "Listen to me, you must _not_ go up there! You _mustn't_!"

"I'm deeply flattered, ma'am, but I've already made a commitment," said Grant, "and I've brought along my four children, as well."

"I beg of you, reconsider!" pleaded the woman. "You're making a terrible mistake! What do you have to prove, huh? You being up there will mean nothing but trouble!"

"Oh, ye of little faith," chuckled Grant as he moved to step past her.

Moving like a cat, the woman grabbed his arm. "Grant!" she shrieked. "They're all gonna laugh at you!"

Gently but firmly, Grant extricated himself from the woman's grip and left, dismissing her claims as crazed rambling.

He didn't see the woman remove her mask, a sadistic smile forming on her lips. She raised a walkie-talkie and spoke into it. "All systems go," was all she said.

Later the attendees congregated at the stage area and took their seats. The Smashers and Grant's family took up the front rows, while representatives from countless companies had a special section of their own. Low chatter permeated through the seating area until the lights dimmed and the emcee stepped out onto the stage.

"Ladies and gents—welcome to Smashville's annual Hardware Gala! I'm your emcee, K.K. Rider, the stunt cyclist! But I can't perform my stunts or wow the crowd without the right hardware powering my motorcycle! And not just my riding skills—my everyday life requires hardware, too! That's why every year, we have the biggest, raddest salespeople come and pitch their wares to us consumers! Are you ready to see what they have in store for us in 2017?"

The audience cheered.

"All right. Then let's put our hands together and welcome our presenters!"

A spotlight panned over to the night's stars—the smartly dressed salespeople, some who had flown in from miles to attend this event. Among them was Grant, note cards in his lap, taking deep breaths and glancing at his family and friends from time to time. Leni blew a kiss. Luigi tossed in a wink. The kids waved.

One by one, the presenters walked up to the podium, armed with note cards and PowerPoint presentations, and pitched their products to the audience. They brought the latest prototypes of the hardware they were advertising and gave descriptive demonstrations on how each part functioned. A few were jittery, and who could blame them, but they converted that nervous energy into fuel for their pitches and used the skills they'd learned from their public speaking courses. A few of them opened up the floor for questions to further calm their nerves.

Grant wasn't paying much attention. Instead, he retreated into his zone, going over the main points of his pitch. He'd noticed a few of his work colleagues in the audience, including his boss, and was pleasantly surprised. Even a few supervisors who tended to pick on him were there. He couldn't wait to show them what for. He didn't strive toward this for them; he strove for this _in spite_ of them. They wouldn't be so quick to exert their authority over them after tonight. Grant half-smiled at the thought. These supervisors had also brought their spouses and children with them. Oh, this was gonna be rich!

Finally, K.K. Rider called his name. Grant took one last deep breath. It was time. He stood, gathered what he needed and walked out to the audience, where the faces were spread before him. Beaming, supporting, applauding. If someone had told him years ago that he was going to have this opportunity, then he would've had them thrown in a mental institution. His confidence in place, Grant began:

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and thank you. Thank you for allowing me the privilege to come here and speak tonight about a product sure to _brighten_ every aspect of your lives." He winked, and the audience chuckled. "Alas, we all have our moments of darkness, moments when you can't really see what's ahead, but the product I'm about to present to you will help you find your way in the dark so that you won't bump or scrape against any hidden objects. Think of it as your little—well, I was gonna say heart-light, but unfortunately, that term is taken, so I'll just go with life-light." More chuckles. "I present to you—the Illumina X 9500!"

Dramatically, Grant flourished the latest prototype for the flashlight, a sleek, stainless steel beauty with a wide, cylindrical head and a band of red around the neck.

"The Illumina X 9500 is tomorrow's flashlight. Its battery life is 5 times faster than those of ordinary flashlights. The secret lies in its battery bank." Grant projected an image onto the screen behind him. "Just insert the batteries in a single click, and this covering will slow the batteries' discharge. Now, let's check out some other features."

He switched to a cut-away view of the flashlight. "First and foremost are the indentations on the sides of the Illumina X 9500. These are not just for show. These indentations ensure a more secure and comfortable grip." He demonstrated with the prototype. "Even better, if you're in a situation where there's little time to react, the switch is located just inches from your thumb. All it takes is a simple flick to turn the Illumina X 9500 on!" He flicked the prototype on and off a few times. "The Illumina X 9500 is powered by 50 LED bulbs, and its shape allows for a longer visual range than other flashlight brands. How about we dim those lights so the audience can see what I'm talking about?"

The lights dimmed slightly, and Grant once again flicked on the prototype. Everyone "oohed" at the nice-sized cone of light emitted from the device.

"Look at that, everyone! You don't see that from your leading flashlight brand, do you?" Grant made some shadow puppets, generating laughs from the audience. He was loving this energy!

Riding on that energy, Grant continued his presentation, showing off the other features of the Illumina X 9500, like the backup battery for when you were short stock on batteries, the USB charging port to charge your devices, the LED clock and alarm system and even a radio and a built in mp3 player to listen to some music. He also described how the device doubled as a self-defense tool: you could use the bright light to stun attackers, club them over the head, or both. The audience leaned forward, gobbling up the salesman's every word.

Unbeknownst to them all, sinister forces were at work. A length of rope ran from behind a curtain to the top of the stage, directly above Grant's head. One end of the rope was secured to a chair leg, and the other was secured to a pulley. And hanging from that pulley was—a bucket full of chicken's blood.

Manning this system were Howard and his crew. Howard knelt beside the rope, penknife in hand, occasionally sneaking glances at the audience. The rest of his crew lounged around, grinning like Cheshire Cats.

"Well?" one of them asked impatiently.

"She'll give the signal soon enough," said Howard. "Right now, though, we wait."

He wrinkled his nose as Grant delivered an anecdote to his audience. "What is she waiting for?"

"The opportune moment," said another of his cronies.

In the audience, the woman, Maya, listened to the pitch without paying much attention to it. Occasionally, she met Howard's eyes. She knew he was impatient. He still had much yet to learn. In time, he'd learn that careful planning and patience was key to a master scheme. Howard reminded Maya of herself when she was learning the tools of her family's trade. And to think she spent much of her early life sheltered from their main enterprise. She'd been given a new name and was raised primarily by her mother's friends and a certain zany white-gloved hand, but there was nothing they could do to fight destiny. And so, she wholeheartedly embraced her dark side, including the anti-Luigi sentiment she'd inherited from her father. She could almost imagine him smiling at her from the bars of his cell.

"If he could see me now," she breathed, sinking back into her seat.

"Who?" whispered Tina, sitting next to her.

"My dad," Maya explained. "He would've loved to see this masterpiece come to fruition."

"Your dad—isn't he…?"

"Shh. Yes. And that man in green took him from me! Who is he to dictate how people should think of him?"

"I concur," said Tina, "but we'll get him—by getting his friend."

Maya sneaked another look at Howard. He was a close relative of her family's. So when she heard of his arrest for desecrating Grant's parents' gravesite, she just _had_ to volunteer her services as a defense attorney. She also knew about Grant—selling this junk to make ends meet—he was a deadbeat just like his old man! Learning of his friendship with Luigi scored her bonus points. And so, she colluded with her clients and with Tina to make the rest of Grant's—and Luigi's—life a living Hell. The stunt about to go down was merely the icing on the cake!

And as for Maya, the brilliant defense attorney, she served her purpose well. But now, it was time to retire that persona and reveal the true woman—the woman behind the mask.

Fare thee well, Maya. Hello, Tanya Bennigan.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Grant was now approaching the apex of his pitch. All eyes were on him. All ears were on him. Truly, he was going to be the highlight of the night!

Not if select audience members had anything to say about it.

Howard was now seated cross-legged beside the rope, his cronies gathered behind him. His grip tightened on his penknife. It was almost time, he could feel it!

The climax of Grant's presentation was also the moment that Maya—er, Tanya—was awaiting. She looked straight into Howard's face. And nodded.

 _Now_ , she mouthed.

With one quick swipe, Howard severed the rope, setting their machine into motion.

And seconds later, before a crowd of millions, a crimson curtain descended upon Grant.

 **Please review!**


	26. Frayed Threads

**Frayed Threads**

 **TW: Something terrible happens to Grant in this chapter!**

The air seemed as if it had sucked from the ballroom. All activity ground to a halt as soon as the sticky, red liquid spilled onto Grant. To the onlookers, it happened as if in slow motion. One moment, he was pitching the Illumina X 9000, gesturing animatedly. The next, he disappeared in a downpour of red. And he stood there, gaping down at himself, wondering what the heck just happened.

Grant remained frozen for seconds longer than ocean liners, the substance dripping into his eyes, nose and mouth, covering his whole body. He felt it soak through his clothes and stain his skin. It spread into his scalp. It was warm and thick, and the smell—he'd never forget the smell as long as he lived.

Blood.

There was a metallic _thud_ , and Grant turned to see a bucket, its insides lined with red, rolling about beside him. That bucket was the confirmation he needed. Someone had dumped blood on him. Someone had ruined his hair, his clothes, his shoes.

Ruined his night.

The audience stared dumbly at Grant, covered in chicken blood. Then, they looked at the bucket. Then back at Grant. Then at the bucket. Then at Grant. Then at the bucket. Then at Grant. Then…

Then they all started to laugh.

Well, _most_ of them did.

Leni, Alex, Nora, Dan, Shelia, the Smashers and the support group members were the only ones not laughing. They could only stare at Grant in horror.

Laughter—high, mocking and grating, smothered Grant and threatened to drown him. It stabbed through his skin, his nerves, his heart. It snarled around him like thorns. Laughter—loud, abrasive, shameless, from every corner of the room. Assaulting him. Violating him. Thousands of faces twisted in morbid satisfaction, mouths open in that horrid laughter. And the voice of the woman who had accosted him earlier played in his mind, like a scratched record.

"They're all gonna laugh at you!"

"Stop it! That's not funny!" shouted Leni, but her voice was lost in the sea of laughter. She was helpless as she saw her husband crumble inside. His eyes turned dead.

And then he ran. Away from them. Away from the laughter. Away from this nightmare.

Ran.

"Grant!" shouted Luigi, taking off after him. Leni gathered the kids and followed.

K.K. Slider appeared then, trying to salvage the show, but the damage was already done. The other presenters were devastated, comforting one another and praying aloud. The Smashers exchanged pained looks, glancing at Luigi's empty seat. In their spots, Tanya and Tina casually observed their handiwork.

"Looks like our task here is done," mused Tanya.

Tina nodded. "After you," she said.

The two women sneaked away unnoticed in the chaos.

Backstage, Howard and his crew exchanged high-fives and pats on the back for a job well done.

"And now for the finishing touch," chuckled Howard as they, too, made their escape.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"He's gone!" Luigi gasped breathlessly.

"Look, we can't give up hope," said Leni. "Maybe he went someplace to clear his head. God, this is terrible. I didn't expect this to happen."

"None of us did," Luigi said softly, "and I think I know who's responsible…"

"Howard," said Leni.

"The bad man who insulted Grandma and Grandpa?" asked Nora.

"Yes," Leni said gently. "Why can't they just leave us alone?"

"That's what I'm wondering, but right now, we've got to find Grant before something happens to him," said Luigi, "or God forbid…"

"Oh, no—you think he'll relapse again?" It wasn't a question.

"You saw the look on his face when they dumped the blood on him," Luigi told her. "I know this will push him back to the edge."

"I'm calling 9-1-1," said Leni, taking out her phone.

"I'll talk to Master Hand and Master Core about this," offered Luigi. "They helped Grant once; I'm sure they'll help him again."

They had no idea how wrong they were…

Back at the stage area, Giulia sat with her head bowed, her heart hurting for Grant. Just when he'd once again found peace, the dogs snarled after him once again! Did they do this just for fun? Chances were that they did. They enjoyed breaking and twisting him—possibly, they got off on it. They wouldn't stop until Grant was a shell of the man he used to be. Combined with the perps' immunity, Giulia felt powerless. It was as if these people were being protected by some Prince of Darkness.

"That poor soul," Bayo murmured, "and on the most important night of his life, too."

"Yeah," Giulia said miserably. "I knew this was gonna happen. I knew it, and I couldn't stop it."

"You think it's them?"

"I _know_ it's them. And the federal government gave them immunity, so they're gonna get away with it." She sighed. "I have to call this in, so I'll take a rain check on that stay in your apartment. Maybe—tomorrow night?"

"Sure," nodded Bayo.

The two women exchanged phone numbers, and then Bayo gave Giulia a sweet, chaste kiss on the lips, making the latter's heart race.

"Go," the Umbra Witch said quietly.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Grant ran blindly through the darkened streets, seeking to get as far away from the ballroom as possible. He didn't care about the cold seeping through his suit jacket. He didn't care about the looks he received from those he ran past. He didn't even have a destination in mind. He just wanted to escape. Escape from the laughter, the humiliation, the pain.

After a few blocks, he slowed his pace, sweating, the chicken blood still dripping from him, still oozing onto his skin. His heartbeat sounded as if it was mounted on a loudspeaker, and he could barely breathe or talk or think. For a few moments, he didn't even know where he was. He still felt pursued by the laughter. Why was this happening to him? Him, of all people?

Mind whirling, Grant's vision managed to register a bar. His body began to tingle, wanting to walk inside there and—no. He couldn't put his friends and family through that again. And if Mario walked in on him again…

"Oh, God…" he choked. "God, please…"

"I'm afraid He's not listening right now, Grant," cooed a familiar voice.

Grant whirled and narrowed his eyes at the approaching men. "You," he hissed.

"Yes, it is I, Howard Morse," laughed the tormentor. "I am half Bennigan—once removed—on my mother's side. And my relatives sure taught me what I need to know."

"Bennigan—you don't mean…"

"I _do_ , actually," Howard broke in. "My relatives were the very people who tortured your new friend, Luigi. And who knows? Maybe there are some _others_ in the Bennigan clan roaming free." He grinned.

"What do you want from me?" Grant demanded. "Money? Publicity? You quite literally bullied my father to death, desecrated his grave, along with my mother's, constantly harassed my family, put my son in the hospital, and now this! Why won't you just back off?"

"Why should we back off? I believe that God created every man and woman for a purpose. Perhaps He wants me to do these things to you, to test your faith in Him and all that good stuff. Or maybe He just doesn't like you and created me to destroy you. Kind of like an avenging angel of sorts."

"You know nothing of God," seethed Grant, "because you have no soul—and neither do your little buddies!"

"Are you sure about that?" asked Howard.

Two of Howard's men crept up from behind Grant and seized him.

"Hey! Get off me!" roared Grant as he struggled.

"Allow me to shed some light on the subject," said Howard. "Imagine that you have a significantly large milkshake, and I have a significantly large milkshake, and I also have a straw." He held up a straw before Grant's face. "Here it is, this is a straw, you see? Now, watch. Watch as my straw reaches acro-o-o-o-o-o-o-s-s the room and then starts drinking your milkshake. I—drink—your—milkshake!" He made a slurping noise, relishing in the moment. "I drink it up! Your suffering makes me feel alive!"

"You're a sick [ _bleep_ ]!" roared Grant.

"Grant, my friend," Howard said cryptically. "You don't even know how sick I can be."

He smiled as his men dragged the still-struggling salesman into the darkness.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Still in her dress, Giulia had rushed to the precinct to apprise Quinn and the other officers of the situation. Quinn pressed a hand to her mouth as the policewoman rattled off the gritty details of the sabotage.

"CSU is searching that place up and down," said Giulia. "How much you wanna bet that they find their fingerprints somewhere?"

"Even if it _was_ them, what can we do? They're immune," sighed Quinn. "I'll see if I can get in touch with those protecting them and talk some sense into them."

"Come to think of it, they were pretty vague on why they're protecting those guys," mused Giulia. "We gotta get to the bottom of this."

"Whoa, whoa! One thing at a time," said Quinn. "You said that Grant ran off. But where to?"

The question hung in the air until the ringing phone shattered the room. Giulia answered it. Her expression grew more urgent as she conversed with the person on the other end.

"Okay, we'll be right there," she said before hanging up.

"What was that about?" asked Quinn.

"Someone just reported seeing a group of men drag Grant into a dark alley and then hearing screams and jeering," said Giulia.

"Dragging Grant into an alley?" repeated Quinn. "Haul their [ _bleeps_ ] in."

"I'm on it!" said Giulia, dashing to her police car as other officers followed suit.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Sirens lit up the night as an army of police cars raced to save Grant. Giulia was the first to pull up to the location the witness had given her. She exited her car and saw a man with a combover wave her over.

"You're the witness?" she asked.

The man nodded. "Conway Conwell, at your service," he replied.

"Mr. Conwell, did you see Grant being attacked."

Conway nodded. "A brief flash of scuffling, and then they were gone!" His eyes watered. "Why didn't I try to stop them?"

"You did the right thing when you called us," Giulia assured him. "The attackers could be armed."

"But what if it's too late?"

Giulia swallowed back a rising wave of dread. "Don't worry. We're going to find him and bring him to his family."

Conway nodded again, swallowing. "They dragged him in that direction," he said, pointing. "Please, hurry! I believe in you!"

Giulia thanked Conway and turned to the other officers. "With me!" she ordered, and they all dashed down the alley, flashlights and service weapons drawn.

"Grant! Are you there? Can you here us?" Giulia called. "We're getting you out of here! It's okay!"

She heard a faint sound, and stopped to see where it was coming from. "This way!" she barked, sprinting so fast that the other officers had trouble keeping up with her.

As the officers drew closer, the sound grew louder and louder until it was a distinct, pained cry.

"Hold on, Grant! We're almost there!" shouted Giulia.

She rounded the corner and then skidded to a halt, the meal she'd eaten at the gala threatening to regurgitate at the sight before her. "N-no…"

Grant lay in a heap on the concrete, clothes torn off, his face and body covered in horrid bruises, deep, jagged cuts and blood. A dead rat was lodged inside his mouth, and his wrists and ankles were bound. All of that, however, was tame compared to what Giulia found down below—

"I found him!" she cried to the other officers, who raced over as fast as their legs could take him.

Giulia knelt beside Grant, cut his bonds loose, pulled the dead vermin from his mouth and draped her jacket over him. "It's okay. It's all right. I've got you," she said, trying to sound soothing and calm, but emotionally, she was all over the place. This was what she'd have to tell his family—that she'd found him cut, beaten— _violated_ —

And Luigi. This would destroy him. He'd be on the warpath, and something told her that she'd be forced to arrest him sometime in the future.

"Giulia—I knew—you'd come…" breathed Grant, tears trailing down his beaten, bloody and grotesquely swollen face.

"Save your strength," said Giulia, holding the man's hand to calm his shaking. She pulled out her walkie-talkie and snapped it on, stating her location and that she needed a bus.

The EMTs arrived on the scene and lifted Grant onto a stretcher, placing an oxygen mask over his face and wheeling him toward the ambulance.

"Male, Caucasian, early-to-mid forties," Giulia was saying. "Severely beaten, multiple knife wounds and possibly—assaulted." She continued to rattle off information until Grant was inside the ambulance and en route to the hospital.

Quinn arrived moments later, her eyes falling on Giulia struggling to keep it together. "Hey. You okay?"

"Uh—yeah," breathed Giulia. "He—they…"

"Is he alive?"

"Yeah. But not well." She cleared her throat. "I gotta notify the family." Briskly, she stepped aside and dialed a number on her cell phone.

"L—it's Giulia. We—we've found Grant…"

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"It is finished," Howard reported to the maniacal floating hand with the wriggling digits. "And I must say with all honesty that we enjoyed it."

The hand giggled. "I knew I could count on you," he said.

"Yeah. Let them try to recover from _this_ ," gloated Tanya.

"You know, your father would be so proud," said the hand, turning to her.

"This would've been his masterpiece," agreed Tanya. "The fallout from this is gonna be epic, and we're all gonna savor every second of it!"

"I deposited the money in your bank accounts," said the hand. "Thanks for all your help."

"It was a pleasure doing business with you," said Howard. "Call us anytime."

"Of course. Now get some rest, because you have a plane to catch first thing tomorrow morning!"

Tina raised an eyebrow. "A tad risky, don't you think?"

Another giggle. "They call me Crazy Hand for a reason, Tina!"

 **Please review!**


	27. Dead Man Dying

**Dead Man Dying**

 **TW: Disturbing content**

The seconds were heavier than Bullet Bills as Luigi sat in the hospital, accompanied by Leni, Shelia, Alex, Nora, Dan, Caroline, Eric, Verne and the Smashers. He didn't know which was the least tolerable, the fluorescent lights or the burning smell of antiseptic. Something horrid and cold settled in his stomach as he remembered Giulia's call, that Grant had been found, attacked and probably ruined in the worst way possible. And he kicked himself. Kicked himself for letting this happen, for letting his friend run off like that. He could've stopped it. And that went triple for this Conway guy who tipped off the police.

When Luigi arrived, he'd barely glimpsed Grant on that stretcher, an oxygen mask concealing his facial injuries, wrapped in a blanket and losing consciousness. He remembered doctors and nurses shouting directions and hustling him to the waiting room, something about surgery. Giulia telling him the condition in which she'd found him, and that a SAE had to be performed. Leni and the kids, spewing questions. And the stillness of the room as the operating room doors slammed shut.

That had seemed hours ago. Now, he sat, waiting and praying for a miracle.

"Why?" Leni asked dumbly. "Why?"

"I wish I knew," mumbled Luigi.

"They'd done enough already," Leni went on. "They should've been satisfied, but no. All they want is to take and take from him—from us."

Giulia was slumped in her seat, emotionally drained, fingering her cross and fighting the images in her head. Grant's bruised body, his blood, his nakedness, the dead rat—the cruelty below the belt—his hollow eyes—

…and as she'd knelt beside him, she'd seen Bella's face and eyes, her wrists and stomach torn open by her own hand—so much blood—and the intestines spilling from that horrific smiley face on Bella's stomach, and Bella's eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Fallen to pieces. Given up. Cold. Dead.

At least Bella's tormentors had been slightly merciful. They hadn't done to her what these animals did to Grant—did they? Bella had kept to herself. She hadn't told her. She hadn't told anyone. She hadn't let anyone help her…

"They've probably fled the country by now," she said to herself.

Luigi turned to her. "Thank you for finding him," he said.

Giulia smiled sadly. "We're not out of it yet, though."

"They left him for dead. If it weren't for you…"

"L, I was the first to see him like that. They really did a number on him. And—they…"

"What?" asked Leni.

"Not only was he naked, but also there was a flashlight—the very flashlight he was pitching…"

Leni and Luigi exchanged sickened looks.

"I was too late—we were too late…"

"Hey," Leni said gently. "He's still alive, and that's all that matters."

"Yeah," Giulia said, a little distractedly.

Dr. Mario emerged from the OR, sweaty and ashen. "Grant's family?" he asked.

Leni stood up. "Hello, Doctor."

Dr. Mario shook her hand. "The good news is that he made it through surgery. He coded once, but he's a fighter. He's awake and aware of his surroundings."

"And the bad news?" asked Leni.

"He—was severely beaten and sustained a few nasty head injuries. We're monitoring him for a possible concussion. The cuts were pretty deep and took a lot of stitching to close them. I'm afraid he'll be both physically and emotionally traumatized in the wake of the attack. And the…"

"No—don't say it…" cried Leni as Giulia crossed herself and Luigi buried his face into his hands.

"I'm sorry, but the exam came out positive. With the trauma we found, there was no question what they had done to him." Dr. Mario wrung his hands.

"Do you think he'll ever recover?" Luigi piped up.

"Honestly, I don't think he will," replied Dr. Mario. "With the head injuries…"

Everyone understood.

"Can we—see him?" asked Leni.

"Yes, but try not to upset him," replied Dr. Mario.

Leni, Luigi and the kids filed into Grant's room, where he lay, pale and fragile, bandages wrapped round his head, limbs and other places on his body, an IV drip attached to his arm and machines pinging around him. He was covered in bruises and scars. Slowly, he raised his head and opened his swollen eyes as far as he could. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," said Leni, approaching his bedside and kneeling so that she was level with him. "How are you feeling?"

"Terrible."

"So am I. This shouldn't have happened."

Grant coughed. "It's—it's not your fault," he soothed. "It's mine."

"No, it isn't. You didn't ask for this," Luigi told him.

"You don't understand," Grant said weakly. "I was a coward. I ran when I should've faced the situation. I couldn't bear it…"

Leni smoothed his hair. "It was so painful when they laughed at you."

"I didn't even know where I was running," said Grant. "But then I stopped, and—there was a bar, Leni. And I—almost went in there…"

"But you didn't," Leni and Luigi said in unison.

"We're proud of you, honey," added Leni.

"That's when Howard came and said these things, and then they grabbed me and dragged me into that alley. I fought them tooth and nail and shouted till my voice gave out. But they got what they wanted in the end. First they used their—uh—anatomies—and then they used a whole mess of objects…"

"Giulia said there was a flashlight—in there—when she found you," Leni said slowly.

"Is she here? I need to give my statement…"

"Shh. Just rest," Luigi said soothingly. "Dr. Mario said you're gonna be okay after a while."

Grant locked eyes with him. "Liar."

Luigi nodded, swiping at his eyes.

"How are my cherubs?" asked Grant.

"Was it that bad man who hurt you?" Dan wanted to know.

"The bad man had a lot of bad friends, and they helped him do this to me."

"Don't worry, Dad," said Nora, trying to sound cheery. "We're gonna get you better."

 _If only it was that simple_ , thought Grant.

"Look—I gotta get the kids home," said Leni. "We'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah. See ya," Grant said with a wan smile.

As Leni and her brood exited, Luigi sat beside his pal. "You want me to stay?"

"I guess it won't hurt," replied Grant. "Some night, huh?"

"Indeed. I'm still trying to wrap my head around it." Luigi held Grant's hand. "We got no warning at all. Just a few months of calm, and then…" His eyes flashed. "Why did you run?"

"I don't know," mumbled Grant.

"What stopped you from walking into that bar?" Luigi persisted.

Grant touched the side of the plumber's face. "You," he replied. "I couldn't lose you again, or Leni or the kids. We'd just worked things out, and to throw it back at you…"

"You'll never lose me again, I swear," vowed Luigi, tears trailing down his face. "I was so angry at what you said to me that I almost ignored how much you were hurting. Not that I'm making excuses, but…"

"I know," said Grant, also crying. "I know. We were back; my life was whole again. And now this—I honestly don't think they have anything left to take from me."

"You have us," said Luigi, referring to himself, the support group and Grant's family, "and we won't let them taking us without a bloody fight."

"Thanks, L."

"But I can't help but notice—you forgot to answer my question. Why did you run?"

"It was my first impulse. I couldn't take the pain, the embarrassment, the laughter. I needed to clear my head…"

"You didn't think they'd follow you and cause more suffering," finished Luigi.

Grant sighed. "No."

"You gave us all a scare, Grant," said Giulia as she entered the room.

"Ah, Giulia. My hero," said Grant.

"It's what I do," nodded Giulia. "Look, I know you just recovered from surgery, and you've had enough excitement for one night, but…"

"My statement?"

"If you want to wait till tomorrow…"

"No, no. I want your brothers and sisters in blue to know what those monsters did to me and to convince them that whoever decided to grant them immunity is obviously screwed in the head."

"Trust me, this will penetrate their little shield," said Giulia, but she wasn't so sure.

"Do I need to…?" asked Luigi.

"No. Stay," said Grant. "You need to hear this in case they decide to taunt you about it."

Then, he faced Giulia, took a deep breath and began to speak—

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Dr. Mario sat in his office, staring out his window into the night. He couldn't believe it, what those dogs had done to Grant. Even the cold, clinical and detached descriptions of what had transpired didn't dull the pain. And the fact that he had a potentially life-threatening head injury—they made sure that no part of him was left unsoiled.

He could barely breathe as thoughts of the past began to take hold. Nothing that extreme had happened to him, but it was still physical and unsettling. He'd had food and drinks dumped on him. He'd been immobilized and pelted with punches and kicks. He'd been beaten so badly that there was hardly a time when he wasn't limping or bruised. Words like CLONE, LOSER or DR. NO had been drawn onto his skin using markers. Treatment such as this had made a plunge from a building or a severed vein or two look inviting. Dr. Mario shook his head to clear the memories away. Now wasn't the time to dwell on such things.

"How is he?"

Dr. Park walked in, carrying some takeout.

"Not good," said Dr. Mario, not even bothering to sugarcoat it. "They really brutalized him."

"You're worried about how this is gonna affect Luigi," reasoned Dr. Park.

"And me," confessed Dr. Mario. "Most of what I endured in Melee was physical."

"Memories?"

"Yeah."

"Did they…?"

"No, thank God. But humiliation was humiliation."

Dr. Park set one plate of food before Dr. Mario, who smiled gratefully at her.

"Hey, Kristy?"

"Yeah?"

"There's something else I want to talk to you about," began Dr. Mario. "That day in the office—I should've known better. I'm sorry."

"Are you talking about—when you kissed me?" asked Dr. Park.

Dr. Mario nodded. "That was unprofessional."

"There's nothing to apologize for," smiled Dr. Park. "You didn't offend me in any way. I was surprised, but not offended."

"But I mentored you," said Dr. Mario. "It just felt kinda wrong. Your mentor, who guided you through medical school, kissed you."

"It was a simple peck on the nose. When your counterpart saves Peach, she does the same thing—to thank him. I was offering you comfort, and you were thanking me in the same fashion."

"So—we're good?"

Dr. Park beamed. "Absolutely."

"I meant what I said, though," said Dr. Mario. "I've spent these last sixteen years lying dormant, and you're the one who brought me out of my slumber."

"And the next time something like that happens to you, could you please come to me?"

"I promise you, I will." Dr. Mario cleared his throat. "Are you working Saturday night?"

"I'm always working."

"Call in sick," said Dr. Mario with a wry look about him.

"You're asking your mentee to lie?"

Dr. Mario smiled. "I'm asking my mentee to dinner."

Dr. Park blushed. "I'll be there. How about Chuck-E-Cheese's?"

"You read my mind!"

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Giulia stumbled out of the hospital, her breathing labored, Grant's statement fresh in her mind and in the pages of her notebook. As the salesman rattled out every depraved thing Howard and his cronies did to him, Giulia sensed him slowly dying inside, especially as he related one part of the ordeal in which they made him—it was a physiological response which had existed since the beginning of time, but those creeps would relish holding it against him. Now, she would take the statement to Quinn, where they'd spend the night going over it and the evidence and making sure their case was airtight before doing something about that pesky immunity.

She vaguely remembered getting in her car and driving to the station house. She vaguely remembered murmuring greetings to her colleagues. She only knew that she was in Quinn's office, relating Grant's statement and handing her the notes.

Quinn pounded her desk. "We should've locked those vermin up before these mysterious people came to them offering immunity," she growled.

"I feel the same way, but Cap'n, I know this will snap them out of it. What kind of person condones something like this?"

"Maybe you're right," mused Quinn. "You look awful. Take the rest of the night off."

"But…"

"That wasn't a request. We both know you're thinking about Bella. Tomorrow morning, we set our machine into motion."

Giulia nodded. "Good night," she said before heading out.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Bayonetta flew to the door as soon as she heard the knock and saw her, looking like an emotional wreck. "Giulia?"

"Hi, Bayo," Giulia said quietly. "May I come in?"

"Of course," said Bayo, inviting her inside. "I'll heat up some leftovers."

Minutes later, Giulia had changed into a pair of pajamas with crescent moons spattered all over it. After Bayo warmed up some food in the microwave, the two ladies curled up in bed together, sharing a midnight meal and watching their favorite movie— _The Usual Suspects_. Between a plate full of mac and cheese, the Umbra Witch's presence and one of the films she enjoyed watching over and over, Giulia felt her body relaxing and the horrors of the day receding. As the end credits rolled, her eyelids drooped, and it wasn't long before she was sound asleep.

Bayo decided to turn in, too, snuggling beside the dedicated crimefighter and placing a kiss to her temple. "Sleep well, Giulia," she whispered before she, too, dropped off.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Back in the hospital, Grant lay on the bed, curled up in a fetal position, shivering. No blankets could stop the cold from running its fingers all over him. His eyes were wide open, staring at the wall adorned with colorful paintings and motivational posters, but not seeing it. There was no light in his eyes. No life. Howard and his buddies had ripped his soul from him tonight.

The bed dipped as another body joined his, and a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind. He knew it was Luigi, insisting on staying despite protests from the doctors on duty. The man in green held on tightly, to warm him, to comfort him, to protect him. Yet he could still sense the demons snarling after him. He could still feel _their_ hands and mouths and their spittle on him. He could still see their gleeful eyes and hear their laughter and rampant name-calling. He remembered every punch, kick, slash, stab and—

They clung to him like fog, and he couldn't get free. Tonight, they'd stolen what remained of his spirit, of his dignity. They'd drained him dry, like water from a well. What was supposed to be the best night of his life had turned into the worst—because of them.

He closed his eyes and heard the laughter, multiplying over and over and over until it crowded his ear and his mind. The sensation of warm, smelly and sticky blood clinging to him. The cold ground beneath his exposed body. His father's voice, broken and begging for forgiveness before taking his own life. His mother, giving up long before her heart did. Their graves, treated like waste dumps. The continued crank calls and cyber harassment. The Career Days from Hell, from kindergarten to twelfth grade. Pictures of his parents, lifeless, in the funeral home, leaked for the world to see. Grant's life had crumbled to ash, and no one, not even his wife and friends, could piece it back together.

As far as he was concerned, if Dr. Mario's prognosis was correct, Grant was a dead man dying.

 **Please read and review.**


	28. Interlude: Done

**Done**

 **Strong trigger warning for suicide!**

 ** _Grant's POV_**

 **2 months, 15 days and counting. That's how long it's been since that night, the night everything I rebuilt fell to pieces once again. Almost three months of rehabilitation, therapy, doctors trying to pry my mind and doing this song-and-dance about "healing". How am I supposed to heal from this? How am I supposed to get their voices, their hands, their mouths and tongues and teeth and faces and smells out of my head? How am I supposed to fight the gnarled branches of dread that come in the night—the vivid, horrific dreams? How?**

 **2 months and 15 days since my return to my house which no longer feels like a home. I spend the early mornings in the shower, going through as many as two bottles of body wash at a time. I try to find something good on TV, but the slightest line of dialogue can take me back to that night. Not even hugs, kisses or cuddles from my wife and kids can soothe me. It's hard to see my children's innocence shatter as Leni and I do our best to explain to them that something traumatic has happened to me, causing me to have an internal freak-out at even the tiniest touch. Leni is patient, she doesn't push, and she even offers to give me space—bless her heart. I still need her beside me at night, in case the nightmares come. I can still feel her warmth and her love even when we're not touching. I really can't stand loneliness.**

 **Days pass, and I gamely soldier on. I put on a happy face and try to maintain an optimistic outlook on this situation. I refuse to fall into despair and self-destruction; I refuse to let the monster back out. Bars, and even the bottles of alcohol at the supermarket beckon to me, but I walk past them as if they're not there. Falling back into that hole is not an option. When temptation knocks, I simply remember that day in lockup, the scene I made and the hurt, betrayal and anger in Luigi's eyes when I ripped him a new one. He could've walked away from me, but he didn't. He still believed in us, and so did I. So, I keep my hands and my pockets and my gaze ahead as I march past the rows and rows of bottles filled with liquid forbidden fruit. Because I won't get a second chance.**

 **Focus. Take it one day at a time. Breathe. Don't let that monster back out. Remember what you did…**

 **The mistakes I've made motivate me to drag myself to the Community Center for the support group meetings. I'm reluctant at first, but I slowly start to confide my ordeal to them. The first time I start actively talking about it, I notice that I can hug Leni and the kids without difficulty. I sleep a little better, waking up from a nightmare only once.**

 **"Maybe you should talk about it with me," Leni offers the next day. "I see that it's making you feel better."**

 **"Soon," I promise her. "Soon."**

 **In the meantime, I plan as much family time as I can. We play cards, board games, charades, Truth or Dare. Outside, there's tag, hide-and-seek and throwing a Frisbee with Spirit. There's even Sprinkler Day, where we break out the Super Soakers and the outdoor pool. Once, I even help Nora set up a lemonade stand and help her net a few bucks. We eat out every weekend, and we hit the amusement park every other Saturday. On rare occasions, Leni and I hit the club on a Friday night, where she makes sure I order nothing other than a soda. But we mainly go to the clubs to get our groove on. I'm perfectly fine with putting my hands on my wife's waist and running them down her body as we rock and shimmy to the beat. I've conquered hugs, and now I've conquered dancing cheek-to-cheek and chaste kissing. When it's time to leave, I'm so tuckered out that I barely dream at all.**

 **As the days become weeks, I start feeling better and better. I keep up my performance at work, despite the supervisors snickering at me over the chicken blood incident. But they're also visibly appalled by Howard's attack. Nice to know that these snobs have standards, too. I finish my interrupted presentation in a small conference, to a standing ovation, and I feel vindicated. Howard won't stop me from doing what I love!**

 **Throughout this, I talk more and more about the attack to the support group, getting grittier with the details with each passing meeting. I see Luigi sitting there, smiling, and I know he's proud of me. Proud of me for talking about this, and proud of me for not falling off the wagon. Speaking of Luigi, the two of us go on frequent lunch dates, where we talk about trivial things, like Smash-related news. I make sure to drop by the Smash Mansion and watch at least one of his bouts—sometimes all of them. Anything to remind myself that I still have a life, and that it's beautiful.**

 **Finally comes the day I've thought would never arrive—the day I send the kids upstairs and get Leni alone in the living room with me. There, I tell her everything that transpired that night. How I fled the stage, fled the ballroom, eyed that bar and then wound up face-to-face with Howard and his gang. What he said to me, how they grabbed me, dragged me, pinned me,** _ **hurt**_ **me—**

 **Leni simply listens as I tell my tale, and it feels so good that I dissolve into tears. Tears of sadness over what has been taken from me. Tears of relief over freeing myself of that burden. And tears of joy because I knew that with time, I can rebuild what they have destroyed. We spend that afternoon cuddled on the couch in that living room, lost in the other's eyes, lost in our love for each other. Later, we take the kids for a stroll at the mall and buy them some new clothes. I draw the line when Nora says she wants to buy makeup. Makeup! At her age? I don't think so! There must be a boy in school or something…**

 **Precisely nine days later, Leni and I rekindle our passion. I surprise her with a candlelit dinner filled with innuendo-rich jokes and sweet nothings and love ballads and red wine. Then, I take her hand and lead her to our bedroom, lit only by scented candles. I kiss her sweetly and intimately, the two of us playing with each other's tongues before I disrobe her, and she disrobes me. She stretches out on the bed with a contented sigh while I get a jar of oil and offer up a sensual massage. When I'm done, I kiss her down her back, her butt and the soles of her feet. I turn her over, and it all begins again, rubbing the massage oil into her body as she sighs beneath my hands.**

 **Leaning down, I take each of her breasts into my mouth, sucking with delight. "Nngh," she says softly, and I respond by parting my lips and swirling my tongue down from top to bottom, flicking it against the hardened nipples before kissing deep and slow between the two.**

 **"C—st," Leni grunts as I continue worshipping her domes. "Oh, J—s."**

 **Her head falls against the pillow, exposing her lovely neck to me. I pepper it with kisses, and as her breathing turns ragged, I pamper her domes some more with my hands and mouth. I'm throbbing and hard and ready, and no flashbacks are gonna spoil this special night. Slowly, I align myself with her, and she looks at me with those eyes, caressing my face.**

 **"You ready?" she whispers.**

 **"I'm always ready," I reply as I ease my rigid length into her.**

 **"Ohh—yeah—that feels so nice," she breathes.**

 **Howard's mocking voice worries at the corner of my mind, but I drive it back down, instead trailing my gaze down the body below me. Her hair is splayed round her face, lips parted, eyes rolling back lustfully. She has such delicious curves and contours from the hours she's clocked in at the gym. I contemplate those curves as I slide out and then back into her warm, juicy core. I feel her muscles shudder around me and hear her gasping voice, encouraging me. I've got my hands on her hips and allow them to freely roam her figure, fondling her breasts, brushing her hair aside, cupping her face in her hands. But mostly fondling her.**

 **My wife's moans fill the room as I move inside of her, slow and deep and deliberate and languid. Our lovemaking is slow, rediscovering what makes us tick, the places I like to plant my lips and tongue and fingertips and the spots she wants me to hit down there. She's making sure I'm okay with every dirty word coming out of her mouth. I'm making sure she knows that I'm not doing this because I feel forced to; it's because I** _ **want**_ **to. Steadily, I increase my speed until her hips buck with mine. I'm pounding into her passionately, growling into her ear, our bodies undulating together. Mighty spasms wrack us, and I know we're about to burst simultaneously.**

 **We hold back the approaching wave—just hold it back till we can't take it anymore, moving in synch with each other and gasping and moaning and drinking in the myriad of sensations. When we finally release, we release as one, holding nothing back as we bathe each other with our liquids, screaming the other's name, our bodies jerking uncontrollably and tears rolling down our faces. I bury my head against her chest, and she strokes my hair. Once we regain our breath and our senses, I kiss her hungrily.**

 **"We did it," I tell her. "We did it."**

 **We take each other again and again, in so many different positions. I use my hands, and then my mouth, to make her explode over and over before letting her ride me like a stallion. I growl as she plants kisses all over my chest and torso before cradling my length and sliding it into her mouth. She takes to it like her favorite Popsicle, not even trying to be quiet about it. The loud and messy slurps nearly drown out my deep, open-mouthed gasps. I watch her head bobbing up and down, her breasts pillowed against the mattress and weaving slightly with her movements. She's relentless, and she knows what she's doing. Just as my breath starts to stutter, she withdraws and pumps me with a confident hand, brisk at first, but then slowing and deepening until I finally erupt and make a huge mess! She doesn't mind.**

 **The succeeding times are slow and tender and romantic. With each kiss, touch, lick and thrust, I feel as if the chicken blood as well as those men have finally been cleansed from my skin. She visibly looks better, too. We spend the rest of the night reaffirming our love, not caring when the candles finally burn out and leave us in semi-darkness. And once we've tired ourselves out, we lay there, holding each other contentedly, stealing sweet kisses and feeling present, here and** _ **loved**_ **.**

 **I have a feeling that things are gonna get better.**

 **Oh, how** _ **very**_ **wrong I am—**

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 **It starts off as an ordinary day. I'm sitting at a seafood restaurant, having lunch with my family. It's beautiful and sunny, the food is fresh and our table is all smiles until—**

 **"Excuse me?"**

 **We turn to see a dorky-looking kid standing at our booth, staring curiously at us.**

 **I blink. "I'm sorry. Do I know you?" I ask.**

 **"Should you?" the kid retorts.**

 **"What's this about?" Leni demands of the kid.**

 **"Sorry to intrude, but—I recognize your husband from that video, and I just** _ **had**_ **to stop by!" he explains.**

 **"Wh-what video?" I ask, suddenly losing my appetite.**

 **"Are you crazy? It's everywhere!" balks the kid. "Someone uploaded it to YouTube not too long ago, and** _ **man**_ **—people can't stop talking about it!"**

 **"They didn't," I gasp dumbly.**

 **"Oh, yes, they did. And you, my man, are a trooper, taking all of that like a pro! I didn't expect you to have a wife and kids after watching you take everything they dished out at you, but hey, don't ask, don't tell, right?"**

 **"Oh, no. No…" My stomach churns ominously.**

 **"You have a lot of nerve disrupting our meal," Leni growls at the kid. "Now leave, before I have security throw you out."**

 **The kid holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, but this dude should really make a career out of this. Just sayin'." And with that, he leaves.**

 **"I think I'm gonna be sick," I say softly before making a beeline for the men's room.**

 **Later that day, I log into YouTube, and my fears are confirmed. I sit there, like a fool, and relive every second of that horrible night. My palms sweat, and my heart hammers in my chest.**

 **"No—they didn't—they wouldn't have the guts to do such a thing—oh, my God, my God!"**

 **And for the second time, I throw up.**

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 **When I walk into work the next morning, I feel my colleagues' eyes on me. I ignore them, just as I try to ignore the video I saw yesterday. Supervisors point at me and stifle laughter, and a few people make suggestive gestures at me. There's no doubt that they've also seen the video. I pretend not to notice them as I make myself comfortable at my workstation and begin working on a sales pitch.**

 **10:30a.m. is when it happens.**

 **"Grant, the boss wants to speak with you in his office," says a receptionist.**

 **I groan. "Now?"**

 **"Now."**

 **So, I follow the receptionist to the large room with the floor-to-ceiling windows, where my boss sits in his chair.**

 **"Good morning, sir," I greet politely, wiping sweat from my forehead with my sleeve.**

 **"Good morning, Grant.** _ **So**_ **nice to see you.** _ **Please**_ **, have a seat."**

 **I make my way over to the large desk on leaden feet and plunk myself into the other chair.**

 **"Do you know why I called you here, Grant?"**

 **"No, sir," I respond.**

 **He sighs. "Well—there's no easy way I can say this, so I'm just gonna say it. We no longer require your services. You have until 5p.m. to clear out."**

 **I can feel my stomach fall to the floor. "You're—firing me?" I gasp. "Why? I've pulled myself together and did good work…"**

 **"I'm sorry, Grant," he says, and I don't think he sounds sorry, "but this company cannot and will not tolerate pornographic endeavors."**

 **"Oh, no. You saw the video?"**

 **"Not only me, but also your fellow employees, the supervisors—and our board of directors. I'm surprised at you, Grant. I thought you cleaned yourself up."**

 **"I** _ **did**_ **clean myself up!" I say hotly. "Sir, that video isn't what it looks like! They** _ **attacked**_ **me! They** _ **defiled**_ **me!"**

 **"Oh, really? According to what I saw, not all of you objected. And whether you wanted it or not, having one of our employees in such a video is bad publicity. Therefore, I have no choice but to let you go. For what it's worth, we enjoyed having you here."**

 **"Save it," I snap at him. "Just give me my severance pay, and I'll be out of your hair."**

 **He bites his lip. "Uh—yeah—about that…"**

 **Minutes later, I storm out of his office, face reddened, fists clenched. No severance pay or pension! Are these people out of their minds?! Do they even care that I was traumatized?!**

 **Obviously not.**

 **Some of the employees and supervisors have the gall to** _ **applaud**_ **as I begin clearing out my desk, making cruel jokes about what I should to for my second job. Fortunately, I'm helped by some sympathetic interns. However, their kind parting words do little to ease my distress.**

 **What am I supposed to tell my family?**

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 **3 months, 24 days, 7 hours, 48 minutes and 15 seconds. That's how long I've been out of a job. 3 agonizing months of trying and failing to get a new job; I've been turned down everywhere because of that video! Leni has visited my former workplace and tried to appeal to my former boss, but her pleas have fallen on deaf ears. Caroline, Eric, Verne, Luigi, even Master Hand—they've lobbied my ex-boss and the people who've turned me down, with no success. The video is detrimental to their image, they say. Well, posting the d—n thing is detrimental to my well-being!**

 **I've uploaded my resume to one job agency after another. I've filed complaints and struggled to have that video removed. But the damage has already been done; it's gone viral and can't be unseen. The text messages, emails and phone calls return. My humiliation is swiftly uploaded to Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Miiverse. I've tried to hold on. I've tried not to slip back into a hole of self-pity and self-destruction. But my grip is slipping with each passing second.**

 **As I start falling behind on bills, the search for a job becomes more desperate. At this point, I'll work anywhere. Need a garbage truck driver? A taxi driver? Short-staffed at a fast-food restaurant? I'm in! From sunup to sundown, I'm out hunting for a job and scavenging the want-ads. All with the same result—turned down and ridiculed over that video. Still, I'm not about to give up.**

 **The months drag on.**

 **The final straw begins with a phone call saying that I was finally accepted into a position I applied for. I break the news to my folks, and we celebrate with breakfast at IHOP. Later, I drive to the company's headquarters and proceed to the head honcho's office for an interview.**

 **Boy, do I have an egg on my face. As it turns out, all of this is part of an elaborate prank, a way for everyone in that building to have a good laugh at my expense. People leap out at me, flashing cameras, while other shove microphones in my face and shout questions about how it felt to be in that video and to—be—with another man in such an intimate fashion. I turn tail and bolt toward the door, but it's shut tight. I can do nothing but wait for it to be over as they laugh, call me names, make dirty hand gestures at me and dump coffee and creamer on me. And the final insult to injury? I get a huge bucket of urine dumped on me. Urine! That's the sort of life I'm having now.**

 **After what seems like an eternity, they finally let me go. I stumble to my car like a drunken man and head home. I'm not surprised when I'm notified that a video of the incident has been posted to Facebook.**

 **I retreat to my bedroom, close and lock the door, shed my soiled clothing, throw myself onto the bed—and cry. This is hopeless. All so hopeless!**

 **I don't bother leaving the house the next day.**

 **Or the next.**

 **Or the next.**

 **Or the next.**

 **Or the next…**

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 _ **Six and a half weeks later…**_

 **I wake up early and head downstairs to scramble eggs and fry bacon. After arranging the food into funny faces for the kids, I surprise my family with breakfast in bed. We spend the morning together, first playing Twister, and then going outdoors to blow some bubbles and play in the sprinkler. After tuna salad sandwiches for lunch, Leni decides to take the kids to go back-to-school shopping, eliciting a groan from the four. Before they leave, I give them a big hug and kiss and tell them that they're everything to me.**

 **Leni looks at me. "Grant—are you okay?"**

 **I grin broadly. "Never better."**

 **After they leave, I dress in my favorite shirt and pants and strap on my favorite watch. Then, I make calls to my ex-boss and the employers who rejected me, forgiving them for what they've done. Next, I slip the phone into my pocket and place the last letter I'll ever write on a table in the living room, where I know Leni will find it. I've instructed a similar letter to be delivered to Luigi after the job is done. I take one long, last look at the house and then head into the garage, where my car sits. I get in the car and start the engine—but leave the garage door closed.**

 **I take out my phone and call Luigi.**

 **"Grant!" he answers after the first ring. "I haven't heard from you! Are you okay?"**

 **"I will be," I reply.**

 **"Listen, I'm sorry you were fired. Your boss was wrong to do that," he says, "but whether or not you're employed, you're my friend, and I'll always be there for you."**

 **"L, you warm my heart," I smile. The smell of carbon monoxide fills my nostrils, and I take great inhales, praying that it'll be quick.**

 **"I also heard about what happened six weeks ago," Luigi goes on.**

 **"No sense dwelling on it," I say.**

 **"Grant, what they did was illegal! They don't have immunity! You can file charges against them!"**

 **"Why? To watch them be sent on their way with a slap on the wrist?" I huff. "Soon, it won't matter anymore."**

 **"Grant—what are you talking about?" asks Luigi.**

 **"None of this won't matter anymore," I continue, beginning to feel lightheaded. Thank God, the carbon monoxide is beginning to take effect.**

 **"Grant—is everything all right?"**

 **"It's going to be, because soon the world won't have little old me to kick around anymore."**

 **"Grant—you're starting to make me nervous…"**

 **"Shh—it's okay. It's okay. Where I'm going, there will be no pain. No suffering. No bullies to harass and attack me. I'll see my mom and dad again. And we'll be together—forever."**

 **"Grant?!" I hear a note of panic emerging in his voice.**

 **"It's not your fault," I coo to him. "You're not to blame for any of this, and neither is Leni. The two of you did what you could, and I appreciate that. But they've taken everything. My job—my happiness—my soul—and thanks to that illusive head injury, I'll be dead in a few years. Promise me that you won't kick yourself for this. Promise me."**

 **"I—I promise."**

 **My lids droop and my vision begins to blur. "No regrets," I cough out. "You've been the best friend a man like me could ever have." I cough and choke. "I love you, L."**

 **"Grant, what's happening?"**

 **"I just wanna say thanks," I gasp, "for everything you've done for me. Just remember the good times we had, okay?"**

 **"Grant, please! Don't do what I think you're doing!" he pleads.**

 **"Like I said—I have nothing left. I'm sorry…" I feel so tired; all I want is to go to sleep, but Luigi won't stop yammering. "Forgive me—for giving up—so soon—please—Luigi…" The phone slips out of my hand and I slump backward, having lost the energy to speak.**

 **"Grant? Are you still there? Grant?** _ **Grant?! Say something—for God's sake say something! Stay with me, pal; we're gonna make it through this! Grant!**_ **" Luigi's voice is increasingly frantic and starting to shake. He yells for someone to call 9-1-1—not that it'll do anything. I can't help but smile at Luigi's futile attempts to save me. Because you can't save everyone, no matter how hard you try.**

 **With my last ounces of strength, I slide my favorite CD into the disk player, and music begins to join the carbon monoxide in wafting through the car. I take in the last gulp of the noxious fumes that will take me home and close my eyes for the final time. At last, I am at peace.**

 _ **I get the last laugh, suckers**_ **! I think to myself. These S.O.B.'s will spend the rest of their lives knowing that this is all their fault. We'll see how proud they are then.**

 **And then—and then—the sounds fade out—and my eyesight fails, the music of my favorite CD and the now-desperate voice of the best friend I've ever made sending me off into my eternal slumber—**

* * *

 **If you or someone you love is having these thoughts, shoot me a PM!**

 **Please, jot down these numbers:**

 **National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-TALK (8255)**

 **Trevor Lifeline (LGBT youth): 1-866-488-7386**

 **The GLBT National Help Center: 1-888-843-4564 (Hotline) and 1-800-246-7743 (Youth Talkline)**

 **Important Sites:**

 **American Foundation for Suicide Prevention**

 **You Can Not Be Replaced**

 **Suicide Prevention Resource Center**

 _ **Remember, you are not alone.**_


	29. Tragedy's Wake

**Tragedy's Wake**

 **Warning for intense scenes of grief and mourning**

Once again, the Smash Mansion was in mourning. The Main Hall was once again draped in black. The air was once again still. The flags once again flew at half-mast.

Only this time, they were mourning a man who had profoundly touched the life of one of their own.

Immediately after Master Hand heard the news, he and Master Core cancelled the rest of the matches and declared a whole week of mourning for Grant. Luigi couldn't complain, as the energy had deflated from his body since that awful afternoon. He busied himself with helping Leni make the funeral arrangements and comforting the four children. All of the Smashers sent him flowers and sympathy cards, and Dr. Park insisted that he resume seeing her on a weekly basis instead of bi-weekly. Val and Evelyn cut their honeymoon short to support their pal. Even Sarasaland flew their flags at half-staff and declared a week of mourning.

On the day of the funeral, all Luigi could think was, _Eerie_. It wasn't too long ago when he was sitting at a memorial service—for Grant's parents. The only difference was that Grant had sit a few rows ahead of him then. Now, he was attending Grant's memorial service.

He stood outside with the other Smashers, watching as a black limousine approached the driveway. When it came to a stop, he crossed over and opened the door. Leni was the first to emerge, wearing a black dress and veil, followed by her somber-faced children, also dressed in black.

"I'm so sorry," Luigi said quietly.

"I just—this is all so surreal," whispered Leni. "First my in-laws, and now…"

"I know."

"Why would he do it, knowing how it hurt when his dad did it?" Leni wanted to know. "I can't believe it. I—things were going so well—I thought…"

Luigi bit his lip. "Me, too."

The man in green walked Leni and the kids inside.

When everyone was seated, Luigi couldn't help but notice that Grant's surviving immediate family were his only representatives. "Where is everybody?" he asked. "Do they even give a d—n?"

"Considering the spectacle they put on after he buried his parents, I think so," sighed Leni.

A lone ivory casket sat before them—Grant's casket. Luigi shivered at the thought of his friend lying in there, cold and—

He clenched his fists, resolving to keep it together. If not for himself, then for Grant's kids and his widow. Grant wouldn't have wanted him to break down like this, either.

When Master Hand materialized before the casket, quiet settled over the room.

"Smashers," he intoned solemnly, "we are gathered here today in remembrance of a noteworthy, self-made man. A man who arrived to rescue one of our own in his darkest hour. A devoted husband, father, salesman—and best friend. One of the finest men I will ever meet, taken away to soon by malice and bullying. We are here to pay tribute to a man named Grant."

MC came forward, and everyone rose as he recited the Lord's Prayer. Then, it was time for the eulogies.

"I'll never forget the day Grant and I met on a crowded commuter train," said Leni. "We were headed to our respective homes after a normal day in our normal lives. Then, he caught my eye. He looked so—world-weary and vulnerable, someone you want to take into your arms and comfort. And at the same time, so—charismatic. Mysterious. Handsome. I wanted to learn more about him. So, I went and sat next to him, made small talk and exchanged phone numbers. Three nights later, he took me out to dinner. He had the most soulful eyes—the kind of eyes Bambi had when he lost his mother in the woods. And each moment I spent with him, I saw the sadness leaving him. I'd given him new purpose. I became an ally in his battles. And we fell so deeply in love—

"He was so shy when he asked me to marry him. It appeared he was used to rejection. But seeing him there, on one knee, holding out a ring, I knew I was ready, and so was he. On our wedding night, we made magic—connected more deeply than a couple in a romance novel. During all four of my pregnancies, he'd kiss my belly every morning when we awoke and every night before going to bed. Through our love and strength, we built our family, and I suppose that love and strength remains with us today.

"Thank you, my love, for the life you've given me. I'll see you whenever I look at my babies, and when we reunite in the Promised Land."

"I know my dad's life wasn't easy," Nora said when it was her turn, "but he didn't let it sour the moments we spent together. He worked his butt off to make sure our lives would be easier, that we wouldn't have to put up with the teasing he'd been subjected to. He taught me and my siblings to stand up for ourselves and for each other. He taught us to value the precious moments life offered us and not to miss out on excellent opportunities. Although he was suffering inside, he refused to let us suffer with him. That's what I'll always remember about him. I love you, Dad."

"One time, Dad helped me with a school project," said Shelia. "It was so much fun, and we got to make jokes so it wouldn't seem like it was for school. Long story short, I got an A, and Dad was so happy that he called me Supergirl. That was one of his favorite pet names for me. He bought me a huge sundae that night, and I earned it, every last spoonful."

"Dad loved us," blubbered Alex. "He didn't have a lot of friends—it seemed we were the only people he could turn to. He said that if it wasn't for us…" He paused. "…if it wasn't for us, he wouldn't have a reason to wake up with the sun or a reason to smile. Now, he's gonna be the reason I wake up, because he faced each day with a sunny smile on my face."

"I—I…" started Dan, and then he broke down crying, his words all but forgotten. He'd never love another grown-up the way he loved his dad, the man who found time in between selling flashlights to help him build a city out of Legos or play barber shop with him. Now that he was gone, he didn't know what to do. Leni escorted the sobbing child back to his seat.

"Grant breathed life into our support group," said Dr. Thorpe. "When he first walked into the room, I knew we'd entered another era. He kept his ears open as the others discussed what had happened to them and offered insightful, if strange, advice. But what I'll remember the most is the rapport he shared with Luigi. The man was clearly drowning when Grant arrived. I saw him visibly light up around him. He used his own experience to help L past his, and I'm forever grateful to him for that. I'm grateful to him for what he did for this support group. I—his passing is like losing a piece of us."

Eric, Verne, Giulia, Caroline and the other support group members shared their thoughts and memories of their fallen member. Finally, it was Luigi's turn.

"I was referred to Dr. Thorpe's support group after enduring a traumatic experience involving multiple bullies," he began. "Day after day, interacting with others who endured similar experiences, I began to recover, to regain my ability to trust and to forgive. That changed on the day Grant walked in. His eyes were not only the windows to his soul but also the windows to his story. I saw a difficult and troubled life, and I knew we'd click, as my life was also laborious. Grant became my rock, my lighthouse, my incentive to keep going and continue my rehabilitation. We began to see each other outside the support group, going on lunch dates and guys nights out, him introducing me to his folks, me introducing him to the Smashers—we went on countless adventures together." He made it a point to leave out the nightly vigilantism. "But our friendship wasn't smooth sailing. As you know, his problems worsened when he had to see his parents in the ground, and those bullying them saw to it that their rest was far from peaceful. He began to fall apart, and I supported him through it all, even when he started shutting me out and snapping at me, because I knew what it was like to lose a parent. Through our love and loyalty, our friendship survived and even grew stronger. We became kindred spirits, souls who truly understood one another. We were the other's rock as the sea raged around us—but I guess the waves finally washed him away. I'll never forget you, Grant. I promise. And I pray that you finally find peace." He hurried back to his seat before his tears could spill.

Master Hand and Master Core led the mourners in a few more prayers, and the giant glove read out one of Grant's favorite Bible passages. Finally, it was time for the burial.

Luigi, one of the pallbearers, rested one corner of Grant's casket onto his shoulder and began the slow walk to the hearse. It was one of the most miserable walks of his life, carrying his friend to a car that would take him to a hole in the ground. Several times, his knees almost caved in. Again, he forced himself to stay strong.

He watched as the casket was loaded into the vehicle before climbing into one of the processional cars. During the drive to the cemetery, he sat there, silently, staring out the window. His fellow passengers sensed his emotional state and mercifully left him be.

Upon arrival at the cemetery, Luigi slid out of the car and once again joined the other three pallbearers. Carrying the casket to the stone pillar was even more difficult than carrying it to the hearse. His legs grew heavier with every step, but he reassured himself that he was bearing Grant to a place where he could sleep well.

Once the casket was on the pillar, MC formally committed Grant's body to the earth.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.

Slowly, the casket was lowered into the ground as the mourners tossed flowers toward it. Luigi removed a Star and heaved it with all his might just as the casket disappeared forevermore. "You let my friend rest, understand?" he called. "He's been through enough in this life!"

"Amen," the congregation chimed in.

The service was over. Now, everyone was going home. To a life without Grant.

* * *

 _ **Flashback**_

 _Luigi drove his motorcycle like a madman, Grant's cryptic, haunting phone call replaying over and over in his head. He maneuvered around slower vehicles and weaved around traffic as if he were a professional stunt driver. His gloved hands white-knuckled the handlebars, his heart was doing a hundred and fifty, and his gut painfully contorted. Rivers of sweat poured down his body beneath his clothes. As he neared his destination, he prayed he wouldn't be too late. Yet at the same time, he knew he would be._

 _He rocketed through a few residential areas before arriving at Grant's house, jumping off the motorcycle before he even turned off the engine._

 _"Grant!" he called as he ran up the driveway. "Grant!"_

 _Luigi bounded toward the front door and rang the doorbell. No answer. He peeked through the window and saw nothing._

 _"Grant?" He crossed the driveway toward the backyard. "Can you hear me?"_

 _That was when he heard it. A car's engine._

 _The garage._

 _Grant was in the garage!_

 _With a shout of desperation, Luigi let loose with a huge blast of green fire, obliterating the garage door. "Please, God," he murmured as he ran to the car. "Please…"_

 _His prayer wasn't answered._

 _ **There he was**_ _, slumped over in the driver's seat of the car. Motionless. Without a moment to lose, Luigi wrestled open the driver's side door and dragged his friend's body out, repeatedly yelling his name as he did._

 _Grant wasn't breathing._

 _"No. No! Don't you dare do this to me!" Luigi screamed as he started CPR. Grant's skin was horrifically pale, and his lips were bluish-purple. "Grant! Come on!"_

 _Nothing. Not even a twitch. And worst of all, the body was still relatively warm, meaning that perhaps if he'd driven just a hair faster—_

 _"Breathe!" yelled Luigi as he pounded Grant's chest. "Please breathe, Grant—please!" But it was no use. Grant just lay there, limp, on the pavement, his soul having fled this earthbound vessel only minutes ago._

 _"No…" he mumbled in a broken voice. "No, no, no!" He cradled the ice-cold, lifeless body of his best friend in his arms and let loose with a visceral scream of grief. This man was supposed to be Luigi's salvation; the one who helped him piece his life back together. The one who understood him on levels nobody else understood. But now he was gone. Gone—_

 _The plumber screamed his cries as he held Grant, screamed and cried again and again, beseeching any deity that could hear him to bring the salesman back. He was getting tears and snot all over the body, but Luigi could care less. He'd just lost his promising future!_

 _And as Luigi sobbed over his friend's body, the CD Grant had inserted earlier played on, blaring over the car's stereo._

 _ **I dreamed I was missing  
You were so scared  
But no one would listen  
Cause no one else cared  
After my dreaming  
I woke with this fear  
What am I leaving  
When I'm done here?  
So, if you're asking me, I want you to know**_

 _ **When my time comes  
Forget the wrong that I've done  
Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed  
And don't resent me  
And when you're feeling empty  
Keep me in your memory  
Leave out all the rest  
Leave out all the rest**_

 _ **Don't be afraid  
I've taken my beating  
I've shared what I've made  
I'm strong on the surface  
Not all the way through  
I've never been perfect  
But neither have you  
So, if you're asking me, I want you to know**_

 _ **When my time comes  
Forget the wrong that I've done  
Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed  
And don't resent me  
And when you're feeling empty  
Keep me in your memory  
Leave out all the rest  
Leave out all the rest**_

 _ **Forgetting  
All the hurt inside you've learned to hide so well  
Pretending  
Someone else can come and save me from myself  
I can't be who you are**_

 _ **When my time comes  
Forget the wrong that I've done  
Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed  
And don't resent me  
And when you're feeling empty  
Keep me in your memory  
Leave out all the rest  
Leave out all the rest**_

 _ **Forgetting  
All the hurt inside you've learned to hide so well  
Pretending  
Someone else can come and save me from myself  
I can't be who you are  
I can't be who you are**_

 _Luigi didn't hear the wailing sirens. He didn't hear the police cars pulling onto the scene. He pulled Grant's body closer to him, his gut-wrenching sobs shattering the hearts of every last police officer there._

 _Especially Giulia._

 _When Quinn had told her officers that a woman had called 9-1-1 and told the dispatcher that a friend of hers had received an unsettling phone call from one of_ his _close friends, Giulia understood the situation. She was the first officer to hop into her car and peel out, sirens blaring. She was taken back to that day, hearing Bella's broken voice on the other end of the phone apologizing over and over and saying that she couldn't deal with this mess anymore, racing against time in slippers and indoor clothes, shouting orders into her radio and calling her family. Running as if in pursuit of a dangerous criminal. Bursting through the door only to find that she was too late to save her sister, greeted only by Bella's body grotesquely splayed on the ground, the blood gushing from her wrists and the intestines sneaking a peek through the parted flesh of her stomach. Collapsing beside her, and then pulling herself together and almost robotically securing the area and calling for backup._

 _She heard the screams before she arrived at the house. She knew that she was, once again, too late. Upon seeing Luigi clinging to Grant's body, Giulia splintered inside._

 _A civilian car pulled up, and out stepped a man and a very pregnant woman._

 _"Holy mother of God!" exclaimed the man as the woman gazed upon the scene in horror._

 _"Are you the guys who called it?" asked Giulia._

 _"My wife did," said the man._

 _"Yeah—I'm Mandy," the woman introduced herself, "and this is my husband, Evan."_

 _"Wait a minute—I know you two! You're Luigi's friends!"_

 _"We are," Mandy said mournfully. "We were there when Grant called him. I didn't hesitate when he told me to call 9-1-1."_

 _"I—I don't know what to say," murmured Giulia._

 _"Too late," gasped Evan. "Only a moment too late! My God, this is a disaster!"_

 _With a heavy heart, Giulia walked over to Luigi, still sobbing and clutching Grant._

 _"L—I'm sorry, but we need to take him," she said gently._

 _Luigi forcefully shook his head._

 _"L, look at me," said Giulia, kneeling beside him. "You did everything you could. What more could you have done?"_

 _"I could've stopped him from running off that night," Luigi choked out. "I could've stayed with him—I should've stayed with him—God—mit, why did I leave him?!" He collapsed, face-first, across Grant's body._

 _As a pair of unis coaxed Luigi away from the remains, Giulia raised her radio to her lips and flatly commanded, "Get me the coroner."_

 _Then, she staggered out of eyeshot of her fellow officers and threw up._

 _And then she cried._

 _But her brothers and sisters in blue were crying, too._

 **Please review.**


	30. Descent into Darkness

**Descent into Darkness**

Master Hand could hear Luigi in his room, crying stormily. Despite his best attempts to stifle it, the sounds of his sobs still got through. The Hand of Creation considered going in there and offering him counsel, but he knew it was futile. Instead, he waited out in the hallway until the sobs subsided somewhat. Two minutes later, Luigi emerged, his eyes puffy and red-rimmed, his face stained with anguished tears. He studied Master Hand, and Master Hand studied him, neither of them moving—and then MH floated toward Luigi because he looked like he needed someone right now. Tenderly, he wrapped his fingers around the grieving man, who softly whispered, "Thank you."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"Why do you feel guilty?" asked Dr. Park.

"Because—I feel like I could've saved him, you know?" Luigi explained. "After the attack, he was bummed out for a while, but he started getting better, hanging out with me and all—and I thought he'd recover from this. That video came like an atom bomb."

"You didn't know they'd do that."

"But I should've," said Luigi. "Howard and his friends are cruel people who'd stop at nothing to destroy their targets. I could've confronted them. I could've…"

"Luigi—we both know what would've happened if you'd done that," said Dr. Park. "Things would've gotten out of hand quickly, and…"

"I know, but…" He took a deep breath. "Maybe if I _had_ hurt them, then they would've been in no condition to do this to Grant, and he'd still be here."

"He wouldn't have wanted you to go to jail for his sake," Dr. Park said, firmly yet kindly.

"I don't know—maybe he would've. How do you know what he would've or wouldn't have wanted me to do?"

"L, if you're gonna give me an attitude, then I'll have to ask you to leave right now," warned Dr. Park. "I get that you're hurting, but you have no right to take it out on me."

"I know. I—I'm sorry. It's just—I'm feeling pulled in different directions."

"What are you saying?"

"Part of me wants to let the police handle it. And the other part…"

"…wants to avenge Grant," finished Dr. Park.

Luigi nodded.

"Revenge won't bring him back, L, and it's not something you should throw your life away for."

"You're right," murmured Luigi.

"So—the police are launching an investigation?"

"The cause of death is obvious, but they're trying to locate the circumstances leading up to it. The attack and the video, for instance. I hope Howard's immunity gets withdrawn, and he at least gets charged with _something_. The car exhaust fumes didn't kill Grant. Howard did."

"Just like those who relentlessly bullied his father," mused Dr. Park. "They had a hand in his death."

"Criminally negligent homicide, or something like that," shrugged Luigi.

"My advice to you is to stay patient and think positive," advised Dr. Park, "because eventually, Howard will get his day of reckoning. If not in this world, then in the next."

"That's good advice," Luigi said quietly. "Thanks, Doc. I think I'll be okay now."

Dr. Park wasn't convinced. "You're aware of the seven stages of grief, yes? The first one's denial."

"Yeah." Luigi rose from his seat, "but really, I'll get by. The key is taking it one day at a time." He smiled. "Same time next week?"

"Definitely," agreed Dr. Park.

Luigi headed for the door, but stopped and peered at his psychiatrist. "So—you and Dr. Mario…"

"I'm afraid that's privileged information," said Dr. Park, blushing.

"I get it. He's a wise, resourceful man," nodded Luigi before leaving the office.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

The next few weeks consisted of Luigi breathing through his grief and trying to hold on. Leni had her hands full of settling Grant's estate, so Luigi volunteered his help, thankful for something to do. Then, there was the task of going through Grant's belongings. Sometimes, Luigi would find Leni seated against a wall, surrounded by photos chronicling her life with Grant. The kids would join in, hoping to snag some keepsakes which would remind them of their dad. They loved it when Luigi came over, talking with him helped them escape the void that was their father's absence, the daily reminds that he was gone and never coming back, the phone calls they overheard Leni making to the bank, the insurance companies and the utility providers. Sometimes, Luigi would take them outside while Leni made those calls so the kids wouldn't have to listen in on it. But no diversions in the world could stop the penetrating reality, and they'd find themselves a big, crying heap on the lawn. And Luigi wished that there was a way he could rewind time and stop Grant from letting that carbon monoxide choke him to death, so he could walk through that door and put smiles on his family's faces again. Heck, he would've preferred a speeding ticket to the memory of Grant's lifeless body or a grief-stricken widow and kids struggling not to fall apart.

When it was time to read Grant's will, the Smashers attended to lend emotional support. The house would belong to Leni until all four children came of age, at which point it would be passed to them, and they could do with it as they wished. He divided the many flashlights he'd sold evenly among the five surviving family members, left his clothes and suits to Alex and Danny, and his car to Nora once she learned how to drive.

But the most shocking part of all came with the reveal that Grant had purchased life insurance policies on not only his wife and children but also on Luigi! It was a decent life insurance policy, enough to maintain that plumbing business back in Manhattan and to pay the bills, but wow! Grant sure didn't want his friend to want for anything once he left this earth! Finally, Grant left one Illumina X 9000 each to all the Smashers, with a final note of thanks for coming into his life.

"You're welcome, buddy," Luigi said softly, hefting the weight of his flashlight in his hand.

I wish I could tell you that everything went back to normal after Grant's will was read.

But it didn't.

Instead, it got worse.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

It began with a phone call. Quinn summoned Luigi to the precinct to deliver some news. And when Luigi caught the tone in the captain's voice, he knew this news was far from pleasant.

"Not too long ago, Giulia and I sent copies of the police report detailing Grant's attack and his suicide to the government," Quinn began. "We hoped it would convince them to stop protecting Howard and his gang."

"And…?" prompted Luigi.

Quinn heaved a sigh. "Well—it seems they need more convincing."

"They—they said 'no'?"

"Unfortunately," said Quinn. "You wanna know what they called what happened to Grant?"

"Do I have a choice?" asked Luigi, going positively green.

"They—they called it 'collateral damage'."

"Oh, God!" Luigi gagged, and Quinn passed him a trash can as his guts began to spill. And as he heaved and heaved, something ugly and suppressed began to rise within him.

"I'm sorry, L," said Quinn. "I can't imagine how hard this must be for you. But we haven't given up yet. We're doing our job, and we _will_ catch these b—ds."

"No," Luigi said sharply.

Quinn arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You're _not_ doing your job," Luigi went on, his voice icy enough to freeze a glass of milk. "I watched my friend fall apart. I heard his last words over the phone. _I_ was the one to find his body, slumped in that car, after he suffocated himself with those exhaust fumes. Now you're telling me that the federal government is still covering the [ _bleeps_ ] of the [ _bleeps_ ] who did this to him?! Are you insane?!"

"Settle down, Luigi," Quinn said calmly.

" _I have no intention of settling down!_ " Luigi exploded. " _Howard and his band of charlatans killed my best friend, and they're still out there!_ " Kicking over his chair, he stormed out of the office.

"Luigi!" barked Quinn.

But he was gone.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Later that day, Luigi was in the Training Room, pummeling Sandbags, when a Mii cautiously stepped in. "L?"

Luigi stopped his attack. "Yeah?" he asked curtly.

"Your friend, Giulia, wants to see you, and she won't take 'no' for an answer," said the Mii.

"Okay," sighed Luigi, following the Mii out.

Giulia was waiting for him, arms folded, facial expression stern. "Have a seat, L," she said.

Once Luigi obeyed, Giulia cut to the chase. "My captain told me what happened. Give us one reason why we shouldn't have you charged with verbal assault on a police officer."

"Are you even trying, hmm?" asked Luigi. "Are you even trying to get justice for Grant's family?"

"She's worried about you, L," said Giulia in a softer tone, "and so am I."

Luigi shrugged. "Don't be. I'm fine."

"I don't mean to be intrusive," said Giulia, "but I speak for everyone you know and love when I say that I don't want you to do anything stupid."

"Like hunt down Howard and his buddies myself?"

"And do something you'll regret—like last year."

"I wasn't about to let them get away with smearing the woman I love," Luigi said patiently.

"You think I don't know that?" huffed Giulia. "Look, L—I'm here because I care about you. I know that you feel guilty over what happened, but—I wanna be here for you."

"I get it. I honestly do. Thank you," said Luigi, "but no, thank you."

Giulia rose from her seat and gathered her purse. "Everyone needs help sometimes, L," she said wisely, "even a Smasher."

On those words, she left.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

That night, Luigi stood in his and Grant's Batcave, dusty from months of non-use. He put on some music and set to work cleaning the place of dirt, dust and cobwebs, cleaning the tools and replacing the light fixtures. Afterward, he sat, resting—and that was when he saw the note. Curious, he picked it up, opened it, and began to read.

 _L,_

 _All of this I leave to you—our Batcave, our mission. Do with it as you wish, but don't let my death signal the end of our fight for justice. There is work that still needs to be done, and scum that still needs to be eradicated. The trail must not be countenanced. My life has ended, but here is where yours truly begins. It begins by finishing what we started. All I ask is that you do everything in your power to make these scumbags feel like [_ bleep _] for bringing you this sorrow. This life was mostly a pleasure, with you and my loving family helping me through the pain._

 _Your friend,_

 _Grant_

The note crumpled in Luigi's fist as he raised his head, his mouth clenching and the look in his eyes turning dangerous. "I will," he vowed in a low, menacing voice. "I swear to you, I will."

' **Cause baby, now we've got bad blood  
You know it used to be mad love  
So take a look what you've done  
'Cause baby, now we've got bad blood, hey!  
Now we've got problems  
And I don't think we can solve 'em  
You made a really deep cut  
And baby, now we've got bad blood, hey!**

 **Did you have to do this?  
I was thinking that you could be trusted!  
Did you have to ruin what was shiny?  
Now it's all rusted!  
Did you have to hit me where I'm weak?  
Baby, I couldn't breathe!  
And rub it in so deep  
Salt in the wound like you're laughing right at me!**

 **Oh, it's so sad to  
Think about the good times  
You and I…**

' **Cause baby, now we've got bad blood  
You know it used to be mad love  
So take a look what you've done  
'Cause baby, now we've got bad blood, hey!  
Now we've got problems  
And I don't think we can solve 'em  
You made a really deep cut  
And baby, now we've got bad blood, hey!**

 **Did you think we'd be fine?  
Still got scars in my back from your knives!  
So don't think it's in the past;  
These kinds of wounds they last and they last!  
Now, did you think it all through?  
All these things will catch up to you!  
And time can heal, but this won't,  
So if you're coming my way  
Just don't!**

 **Oh, it's so sad to  
Think about the good times  
You and I…**

' **Cause baby, now we've got bad blood  
You know it used to be mad love  
So take a look what you've done  
'Cause baby, now we've got bad blood, hey!  
Now we've got problems  
And I don't think we can solve 'em  
You made a really deep cut  
And baby, now we've got bad blood, hey!**

 **Band-aids don't fix bullet holes  
You say sorry just for show  
You live like that, you live with ghosts…  
Band-aids don't fix bullet holes (hey)  
You say sorry just for show (hey)  
If you live like that, you live with ghosts (hey)  
(Mmm) If you love like that, blood runs cold!**

' **Cause baby, now we've got bad blood  
You know it used to be mad love  
So take a look what you've done  
'Cause baby, now we've got bad blood, hey!  
Now we've got problems  
And I don't think we can solve 'em  
(think we can solve 'em)  
You made a really deep cut  
And baby, now we've got bad blood, hey!**

 **-Taylor Swift, "Bad Blood"**

 **I know...**


	31. Where There's Smoke

**Where There's Smoke**

"I know things are going to be difficult without Grant around," said Dr. Thorpe, "but let's not allow this loss to impeded our healing journey, shall we? That being said, I'd like you all to meet our newest member."

The door opened, and in walked a man wearing a beige beret, a short-sleeved shirt and skinny jeans.

"Hi," they said, removing their beret to reveal flowing, bluish-black curls. "I'm Donald."

"Hello, Donald," greeted the group.

"And I'm a transgender, transsexual woman. My gender-assigned name is Donna, but I prefer that you call me Donald. My pronouns of choice are 'they/them'."

"Thank you for telling us, Donald," said Dr. Thorpe. "Can you tell us your story?"

"Sure. Like I said, I was born a female, but I didn't really feel comfortable in a girl's body. I felt like a boy. So, I acted what you consider 'boyish'. I preferred Power Rangers over Disney Princesses. Instead of a play kitchen, I had a play toolshed. Instead of playing house, I pretended I worked at an auto repair shop. I was tomboyish, played football, wore boy's clothes and built spaceships, aircraft and battleships with my Legos. When I started school…"

Donald took a few deep breaths. "I had problems making friends. Even the teachers were critical of me because—I didn't act like a girl. But why should I act like a girl when I didn't feel like one? I was turned away from some games and sports because they were 'just for guys'. They sure zipped their lips when I bowled a strike during a field trip to a bowling alley, but not for long. The—bullying didn't get serious until seventh grade, when my body began undergoing its—developments. I was humiliated in the showers, called the 'd' word and other slurs, even dragged to the men's room and…"

"Were you…?" asked Dr. Thorpe.

"…just beaten around a bit," Donald replied, a little too quickly.

"Donald," said Giulia, "how can we help you if you lie to us?"

"How do you know…?" asked Donald.

"Because I deal with that kind of stuff in my job."

Donald blinked. "You're a police officer."

Giulia nodded. "I am. And you can trust me."

"I didn't file charges because I didn't think they'd believe me. The common myth is that guys are immune to—that type of thing."

"That is not true," Luigi broke in. "One of my guy friends had—that—happen to him. And it was posted on video."

Donald looked genuinely pained. "I'm sorry," they said. "Is your friend all right?"

"He's dead."

"Oh, my God. They wanted to silence him for good?"

"No. He—took his own life. Couldn't deal with it anymore."

"Mother Mary. I'm really sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, Donald. But—you didn't endure that only once, did you?"

"You, my friend, are quite intuitive," said Donald. "Oh, no—they kept coming back for more. And here's the kicker—some women were in on this as well as men. When I mustered enough backbone to report it, the school acted like it was my fault."

"What about your parents?" questioned Dr. Thorpe.

Donald grimaced. "When they found out I was trans, they beat me and threw me out. I dropped out of school. Eventually, I found a shelter, and after only a few weeks, I was taken in by a guy named Cal and his wife, Nancy. They loved me and never judged me. Shortly after the adoption was official, I went back to school and was accepted into Yale." They grinned. "I had my graduation photos and my letter of acceptance mailed to my parents as a little 'screw you' to them. Now, I know this is the part where you expect me to say that I lived happily ever after, but—the bullying and harassment didn't stop once I got into Yale. It was more verbal and cyber than physical, but it hurt nonetheless. Images of me were grossly Photoshopped. I was called a troll and ugly. They said so many things…but I made the Honor Roll and graduated at the top of my class. Now, I'm a marine biologist."

Applause.

"Well done, you," said Verne.

"It's—almost official," said Donald.

"What do you mean?" asked Caroline.

"My reassignment surgery is in a few weeks," explained Donald. "I'm so nervous—and so excited."

"And you have our support," said Dr. Thorpe.

Donald beamed. "Thanks," they said.

They plunked themselves onto a chair amidst another round of applause.

"Hey," Luigi said to them.

"Yeah?"

"I know a woman who endured a worse situation. She's cisgender, but she'll understand your pain."

"So—she was picked on for being attracted to other women?"

"Bingo. Her name's Cerena, and her story—what she overcame—will inspire you." Luigi handed Donald a card. "Here's her number. Call her, and listen closely to what she has to say."

Donald's eyes misted. "Thanks—Luigi."

Dr. Thorpe, examining the situation, was impressed. Despite his own grief, the man in green was continuing to reach out to others and give them hope and strength. Surely a good sign…

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"We're about to make our final approach. All passengers, please take your seats, fasten your seatbelts, flip up your trays and make sure your seats are in their original upright position. Thank you."

Tina nudged the slumbering woman next to her. "Hey, Tanya. Wake up."

Tanya stirred. "Hmm?"

"We're about to land."

"Okay," yawned Tanya, adjusting her seat and attending to her hair, unruly from slumber.

Ten minutes later, the plane touched down at Annapolis Airport and taxied over to the landing dock. As soon as permission was given, the passengers unbuckled, grabbed their luggage and filed for the exit.

"CH says he has a surprise for you," said Tina.

"Really? What kind of surprise?" asked Tanya.

"You'll see."

Inside the terminal, two men wearing black suits escorted the women to a limo, which whisked them to a beautiful high-rise complex by the bay, hidden by evergreen trees. And outside that complex waited a man Tanya knew all-to-well.

Tanya threw open the door, leaped out of the vehicle and dashed into the man's outstretched arms.

"Tanya!"

"Daddy!"

Vincent Bennigan smiled at his little girl. She was as beautiful as he remembered her, with his eyes and facial features but her mother's tan locks. She'd also inherited his cunning and diabolical genius, something he was immensely proud of, though he wouldn't admit it.

"How did you get out of there?" asked Tanya, referring to the correctional facility to which her father and her uncles, Shane and Manny, were sentenced.

"After you and Howard sprang Crazy Hand from the Minus World, he helped us escape," explained Vincent. "According to the government, your uncles and I no longer exist."

"You faked your deaths," gasped Tanya.

Vince grinned. "You got your smarts from somewhere," he laughed. "We're safe now. Nobody will ever bother us again."

"What about Nintendo's ex-financier? He was sentenced to house arrest, wasn't he?"

"And that's where he'll stay," said Vince. "He is useless to us now."

Tanya smirked.

"So," began Vince. "CH told me that you single-handedly masterminded the plots against Luigi and his new friend."

"I had some help," said Tanya as Tina came forward. "Dad, this is my friend, Tina. Tina, this is my dad."

"M'lady," said Vince as he shook Tina's hand.

"It's an honor to meet you," said Tina.

"Let's go inside," said Vince.

Soon, the three were seated in the living room, sipping on cocktails.

"Making Luigi's life miserable was the life I chose to lead," Vince said to his daughter, "but it wasn't a fate I intended to pass on to you."

"It wasn't a fate you had to choose," murmured Tanya.

Vince sighed. "I was young—foolish, and I thought I was invincible," he said solemnly. "I've done things to him—that I'm not necessarily proud of."

"Then why? Why did you do them?"

"I don't know. I honestly don't know. Maybe I got a thrill out of seeing him suffer. Maybe I was upset that he was getting so popular, jealous because I thought my own star was fading. But look where it got me." He opened his shirt, revealing the scars from his encounter with the man in green. "I was in my own little world, and by the time I was pulled out of it, it was too late. I did horrible things to him, Tanya, and I've spent these last couple of nights wishing I could take them all back. I don't expect him to forgive me—I hope that he'll understand how blind I was back then."

Tanya looked down. "I did something horrible, too," she confessed. "I helped drive a man to suicide. But—he deserved it, didn't he? I didn't hear a single good thing about his old man. And he was always trying to one-up Howard when they were kids."

"It's not my place to decide whether someone deserves to live or die," Vince said softly. "Listen to me, Tanya. You've proved yourself to be a true Bennigan when you helped destroy Grant. I can say with total confidence that Luigi is now at his most vulnerable state. You, my child, have completed my masterpiece."

Tanya blushed. "What's our next move, then?"

"Nothing. That's the thing. Our hatred for Luigi has served us well, but now it's time to put it away for good. At this point, we don't have to do anything to completely destroy that man in green. It's all up to him now. Our greatest enemy has always been ourselves. By reacting as he had to our attacks, it was him who truly set the machine into motion. We were merely supplying the fuel. Now that Grant is dead, however, he can choose to either build himself back up and move on or give in to the desire for vengeance and be destroyed. The true antagonist has been not us, but the human condition. All we have to do now—is sit back and watch the fireworks."

"Well spoke," said Tanya.

"You know—I hoped you wouldn't wind up involved in this shady business," said Vince.

"We can't fight fate, Dad," shrugged Tanya.

"Your uncles and I—wanted you to be a clean slate. Dr. Bennigan, or Congresswoman Bennigan or Senator Bennigan—maybe Governor Bennigan. But not mixed up in the stuff we were doing to Luigi. It's not as—glamorous—as it appears."

"I understand."

"Your uncles—after our escape, we all changed our names, and they're doing community work to try and redeem themselves—but Luigi haunts them at night. They want to unsay and undo their offenses, but they can't. I can't. Luigi may have scarred us when he confronted us, but we left worse scars on him. He'll remember what we did. God will remember what we did. And when our time comes, He will deny us entry into His Kingdom—he'll cast our souls into the Eternal Flame."

"If we show that we've changed, then can we achieve salvation?" asked Tanya.

"Maybe, if we work hard enough. Perhaps we'll get a chance to cleanse ourselves of our sins in Purgatory."

"Wow. I feel horrible now. What should I do, Dad? Should I turn myself in and confess? Should I testify against Howard and his friends? I want to redeem myself in both Luigi's eyes and in God's eyes, but I don't want to take sides against the family."

Vince draped an arm around his daughter. "Trust me, redemption and salvation is going to be a long, hard climb," he said, "but for now, let's rest awhile."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Sometime later, Luigi was relaxing in his room when his phone rang.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey, L," Evelyn's voice responded.

"What do you have for me?" asked Luigi.

"Val and I—we've found him."

Silence. Then, Luigi smiled. "Thanks, Evie," he said before hanging up.

He was really going to enjoy himself tonight…

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Late that night, Howard was in a nightclub in a run-down part of town, dancing without a care in the world. So far, he'd picked up two ladies and charmed the bartender enough to give him drinks at a reduced price. Crazy Hand and Tanya had virtually erased him from the ends of the Earth—or so he thought. Tomorrow, someone would pick him up and take him to a place where nobody would ever find him—or so he thought. He'd be free to live out the rest of his days as someone else—or so he thought. Good times ahead, indeed.

Or so he thought.

Now, he was dancing suggestively with a slightly plump, blonde girl, his hands fondling her clothed breasts and trailing down her belly to her hips. Sweat seeped from them—it was a relatively small club filled with so many people—but Howard was getting extremely excited by his sweaty dance partner; droplets collected on her vanilla-colored skin and quivered beneath her chin; it streaked and trickled down her neck and chest and into that valley between her domes. He just couldn't get enough, he wound and ground his body for song after song until the beat slowed down, at which the girl led him to a couch where a few couples sat, making out. Howard even spied some girl-on-girl action, which only added to his—situation.

Then, the girl disappeared, and a drink was in his hand. He casually sipped on the alcohol, savoring the nightlife around him. A guy like him would do just fine here. Just fine, indeed.

Howard glugged down his beverage and set down his glass, ready for some more conquests. But as he moved to stand up, his head started to spin. He started feeling woozy. Ringing arose in his ears, and his vision swirled and blurred. Ugh. Maybe he had a bit too much. Some air would do the trick.

He stumbled out of the club and into the pitch black night, where he began hurling into a trash can.

"Aww man," he groaned. "Aww man…"

Howard never saw the man in green coming.

Next thing he knew, volts of electricity were tearing through his body.

And then—nothing.

 **Stay tuned.**


	32. Interlude: Vengeance is Mine

**Vengeance is Mine**

 **Warning for very graphic torture and violence!**

 ** _Luigi's POV_**

 **Here I sit, sipping from a can of Orange Crush, waiting for Howard to wake up. There has never been a trap easier to arrange. Draw him in with an attractive girl, the attractive girl spikes his drink, and I finish the knockout process with lightning. I get him to the Batcave with relative ease and set about preparing him. Now, I'm priming myself with a can of soda, my eyes on him as he slowly stirs.**

 **I stand and walk over to where he's strapped. He's naked, his pale skin winking at me in the moonlight, steel cuffs on his wrists and ankles. His eyelids twitch, and his head turns from side to side as awareness returns to him. A smile crosses my lips, and a plume of flame lights up on my index finger. Inch by inch, I lower it toward his skin until it hovers over his left nipple. Then, I press it down—hard.**

 **Howard jerks awake, wide-eyed, screaming and arching against the table, straining against his bonds. I twist my finger a few times before pulling it away and burning the other nipple.**

 **"Good evening, Howard," I greet him. "I suppose you want to know who I am and how you got here."**

 **"I know you—you're** _ **his**_ **friend!" hisses Howard.**

 **My fist practically splatters into his face, sending a gout of blood flying. "Indeed," I reply, "and as to how you got here—we're going to have a little conversation. Which means—I'm doing the talking, and you're doing the listening."**

 **"I don't have to listen to a thing you say," retorts Howard, but I smell the fear he's trying to mask.**

 **"I knew you'd say that," I sigh, revealing a pair of small hooks fastened to wires. "Don't worry, though—I'll find ways to make you listen."**

 **I pinch one nipple with one hand while driving the hook through with the other. Well, I don't drive it in with only one go. I inch the hook into the sensitive flesh as slowly as possible, so that Howard can feel every last second of it. The sharp hook makes a nice puncture wound before tearing through the nipple, a little blood oozing out, and then it pokes out the other side. Howard screams in pain, but I'm not through yet. I yank the wire, wrapping it end over end round my wrist until the puncture wound becomes a gaping, bloody hole. Then, I release the wire from my wrist and secure it to a pulley hanging above. Tears spill from Howard's eyes as I repeat the whole shebang with the other hook and the other nipple.**

 **"Now do I have your attention?" I ask.**

 **"Oh, God," Howard cries out.**

 **"He's not listening right now," I tell him.**

 **I walk over to a lever connected to the pulley, wrap my fingers around it—and then pull with all my might.**

 **Howard screams again, louder this time, as the pulley engages, the hooks digging deeper and deeper into his pecs. I now have him in an uncomfortable position, his back arched high with his wrists and ankles still secured to the table. After one last tug, I step away from the lever and approach him.**

 **"It seems to me that you'll be hanging around with me for a bit," I say as Howard whimpers, "so we might as well chat a bit." I slide on a pair of white leather gloves. "Let's start off with a cold, hard, fact. You killed my friend."**

 **Instead of the face, I focus on the arched chest, midsection and torso. The first blow is so fierce that I hear a rib or two shatter. Howard coughs, but I give him no time to recover as I punch him again—and again and again and again and again, harder and harder and harder. I spare nothing with the exposed upper body, my fists hammering, feeling the blows reverberate up my arms. I tear up his chest, his trunk, his abdomen, his sides—and once everything is bruised and broken, I bruise and break it some more, knowing that hitting already-bruised flesh is three times as painful. Eventually, my arms grow tired, and I shake out my hands as I lean over and put my mouth to Howard's ear.**

 **"This is the last time you destroy someone's life, Howard. I'm going to beat you and break you and mess you up in every way imaginable, and when I'm done, you'll wish you were never born."**

 **Then, I begin smashing away at his face, my anger and rage and grief kicking to life as I seek to reduce every bone to splinters and powder. Before he falls unconscious, I force him to eat a Mushroom. He's not getting off that easily.**

 **"I didn't kill him," groans Howard. "The chicken gave up on life and killed himself."**

 **I grab a long knife and straddle him. "He killed himself because of you," I say softly. "You might as well have pumped that carbon monoxide into his lungs. You took and took until there was nothing left. He just wanted to get away from you and your buddies."**

 **"Life isn't fair. You either sink or you swim," mutters Howard. "Your friend was weak, so he sank, all right. My hands are clean in this."**

 **"No, they're not," I snap.**

 **Fear crosses Howard's face as I show him the knife and then run the blunt edge along his body. He quivers and breaks out in a sweat. Perfect. I flip the knife over and start cutting his beaten body. Each cut is deeper than the last. I cut him along his ribs, along his abs, all over his stomach. I cut down his left flank, his right flank and his limbs and shoulders. I make sure to avoid the vital areas. Howard begins crying like a baby as my knife does its artwork on him.**

 **"Hurts, doesn't it?" I ask him. "Well, Grant was hurting, too. And look what happened to him!"**

 **I clench my fists and start whaling on him again, and then I slide off him and fetch some more hooks attached to wires.**

 **"No…" gasps Howard, but I straddle him once more and insert the hooks into the slices I made, tying the wires to another pulley. Then, I engage the pulley, watching the wounds open further and further, seeing muscle and organs poking through. Blood squirts. Howard wails. Finally, I release the pulley and violently rip out the hooks, leaving only the ones in his pecs.**

 **"As much as I despise you, I don't want you getting an infection," I say to him, generating my fire in my hands. "So…"**

 **I give him no warning as I slam my fiery hands onto him and drag them down his body, grabbing, squeezing and pinching along the way. I run fiery fingers over the cuts, sometimes sticking them in and twisting them about. When I'm finished burning him, I pour what's left of my soda onto the scorched flesh.**

 **I look at the can, then back at him. Then, I crumple the can, stick it into my pocket, and grab a heavy baseball bat.**

 **"Batter up," I say darkly before bringing it down on his long-suffering body.**

 **His face.**

 **His jaw.**

 **His chest.**

 **His belly.**

 **His arms.**

 **His elbows.**

 **His hips.**

 **His thighs.**

 **His kneecaps.**

 **His calves.**

 **His feet.**

 **I swing and swing and swing until my shoulders scream at me, and then I ram the bat down his throat, making him gag and retch. Passively, I watch him empty his guts, and when he's done puking, I lower him back onto the table, rip out the hooks in his pecs, release him from the table and drag him over to the puke pile, where I dump him face-first in it.**

 **I make sure he won't try to escape by stomping hard on his back a few times. Then, I fetch some more chains. I drag the table over to his wrists and position it vertically, affix one end to two of the table legs and clamp the other end onto his wrists. Two other chains take care of his ankles, and I stretch his legs painfully apart before chaining the ankles to two stakes on the floor.**

 **"Comfortable?" I ask.**

 **I ground his face deeper into his own vomit. Then, I take my empty, crumpled soda can from my pocket and wedge it between his legs like an enema.**

 **"Hang tight," I tell him. "I'll get to that later."**

 **I climb onto his back and withdraw a bottle of scalding hot wax. "I have a question for you: when's the last time you got waxed?" I query before opening the bottle and pouring the stuff onto his back.**

 **Howard screams and thrashes as the hot liquid makes contact with his skin. This wax is green, and specially made for Howard and his buddies. I use it to imprint the letter "L" onto Howard's back.**

 **"My advice to you," I say, "Don't even think about trying to take it off."**

 **I pour on a second layer of wax, then a third, then a fourth, until his back is deep red. Then, I get off him and kick him a few times before pulling the soda can out of him and pick the baseball bat back up, slathering the wax onto it.**

 **"Normally, I don't give wrongdoers this luxury," I murmur, "but after what you've done, I believe you are in serious need of it!"**

 **I slam the wax-covered bat into him, with every ounce of strength I can muster, and pound it in and out with a punishing rhythm. The smell of something burning fills the air, which only makes me thrust the bat in and out more brutally. Howard's muffled cries are unheeded as I mercilessly rip into him, hot tears pouring down my face and screams of my own worrying at my throat.**

 **"Please!" I hear Howard exclaim.**

 **"I'm sorry; did you say something?" I ask, mockingly, plunging the bat in deeper, bruising and stretching and tearing and rupturing. I can hear him, of course, but I want him to beg, to feel the same sense of degradation and agony he bestowed upon my late friend.**

 **"Please!" Howard screams again. "Please!"**

 **I make no move to stop. "Bet you sound like Grant," I tell him tightly, and then I completely lose it. My emotions erupt, and I channel them into my shoulders, my arms, my hands, that bat, and into Howard. I sob, hiccup, SCREAM! Grant was my ally in this fight and Howard, that excuse of a man, tore him from me! He bent and twisted him until he was barely recognizable, and then stood back and watched as he crumpled to dust. Memories of our moments together flash through my brain, making me further determined to make his tormentor pay. Since he takes pleasure in ripping and tearing one friend from another, I'll rip and tear some things from him and see how he likes it! I'll bend and twist him until he's barely recognizable, and then I'll make it so that everyone will know what he's done and everyone will hate him. Death is too kind for him!**

 **I keep up, going harder, faster, even as tears blur my vision, even as my throat goes sore from my screams and sobs, even as I nearly choke on my thick saliva, even as I feel my skin grow hot and sweaty. Hell hath no fury like a grieving friend, and Howard, his friends, and the other bullies out there are gonna find out the hard way!**

 _ **I am in the air now, I am in your lungs  
I am written, I am spoken by a million flaming tongues  
I'm the lens through which you see  
I'm the process, I am the key  
I am synapses firing bullets from a gun**_

 _ **I'm the world's mystique, I am the words you speak**_  
 _ **I am language, I am hidden memories that you seek**_  
 _ **I am the sun before you see me rise**_  
 _ **I burn still when you close your eyes**_  
 _ **I am the soul that never dies when flesh is weak**_

 _ **I am inside of you, in spite of you**_  
 _ **With strength and sacred grace**_  
 _ **But for all you do, I'll carry you**_  
 _ **From this bitter place!**_

 _ **I am in your future, I am in your past**_  
 _ **I'm the echo of your footsteps, I'm your shadow cast**_  
 _ **I'm the heat you radiate**_  
 _ **I am the fury and the fate**_  
 _ **I am each beat within your heart, from first to last**_

 _ **I'm your action without thought**_  
 _ **I am the instinct born inside you**_  
 _ **I'm the bones from which you drape**_  
 _ **I am protective skin to hide you**_

 ** _I'm the pull that the earth exerts  
I am the rain that stings and the snow that blinds  
I'm the architecture of your world and mind_**

 _ **I am inside of you, in spite of you**_  
 _ **With strength and sacred grace**_  
 _ **But for all you do, I'll carry you**_  
 _ **From this bitter place!**_

 _ **I am the dawn of ages, I am the days seen through**_  
 _ **I'm final entropy, I am inside of you**_  
 _ **I am the clouds that cover your way into the blue**_  
 _ **I kiss with life to give, all this in spite of you…**_

 _ **-ThouShaltNot**_

* * *

 **Phew! How's that for retribution? Please review.**


	33. The Hunt is Afoot

**The Hunt is Afoot**

 **Contains smut and violence!**

Giulia was sitting at her desk when a woman with short, jet-black hair walked in.

"May I speak to the captain, please?" she asked.

Giulia gaped. "Kyle Ferdinand?"

The FBI agent smiled. "The one and only. You must remember me from the Plaxwell case."

"I do. Captain Quinn's office is just down the hall," said Giulia.

The policewoman escorted the sophisticated agent to Quinn's office and knocked on the door. "Hey, Cap'n? Agent Ferdinand is here to see you."

Quinn opened the door. "Thank God, someone's here to straighten this out!" she grinned. "Please, come in." To Giulia, she said, "Take tonight off; spend it with her."

"Wait—how…?"

"That crescent moon on your new necklace? I'd know it anywhere," winked Quinn.

Giulia blushed, smiled and left the two women alone.

"Giulia and Bayo?" asked Ferdinand.

"What can I say? She completes her," said Quinn. "Now, our business?"

"Oh, right." Ferdinand cleared her throat. "Uh, exactly who told you we were protecting Howard and his pack of ravening wolves?"

"One Agent Stanley," replied Quinn.

"Agent Stanley?!" spluttered Ferdinand. "That sly, slick, son of a…"

Quinn chuckled. "You don't think too highly of him. May I ask why?"

"Stanley is no longer an FBI agent," explained Ferdinand. "We fired him a year ago!"

"But—he said—Howard was an asset…"

"Stanley is a liar and a crook!" Ferdinand snapped. "We caught him embezzling funds, cyberbullying innocent teens, abusing his powers to help dangerous criminals flee the country—and he's taken an interest in little kids, and not the good kind. The stuff we saw him looking at over the Internet…" She paused and handed Quinn a manila folder. "Take a look at this."

Quinn opened the folder, studied the documents and pictures, and studied them again. When she looked up, her eyes were dilated in fury. "We've been played," she growled.

Ferdinand nodded. "He met Howard and his gang over the Internet. It appears that Stanley—was another one of Grant's tormentors during his childhood."

"This plot keeps getting thicker and thicker," mused Quinn. "What the heck is the author gonna throw at us next—that this former Agent Stanley was on someone's payroll?" She looked into Ferdinand's face. "Oh, my God!"

"Shortly after Howard's arrest, a sum of $500,000 was transferred to Stanley's account," stated Ferdinand, "under the name Carter Hadley."

"Okay—then I guess we gotta find Stanley and make him tell us about this Carter Hadley," said Quinn.

"And therein lies the problem—Stanley's off the grid. We've spent the last months searching for him, and after Grant's suicide—he disappeared completely."

Quinn groaned.

"But—now we know that this immunity was given on a false basis—so…"

Quinn brightened. "I think Howard is hiding Stanley. We'll make him give this guy up."

"My _honest_ agents and I will help you in any way we can," promised Ferdinand.

If only they knew…

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

On a boat docked in a marina in an undisclosed location, four men sat, playing cards and downing shots. Their names were Chris, Randall, Tod and Fletch. Tomorrow morning, this boat would embark on its journey, where there would be nothing ahead of them but open sea—and where no one would ever find them.

Or so they thought.

"Mission accomplished!" Fletch was saying. "We got rid of ol' Grant and took down his little green-clad friend in the process—now we're just waiting for Crazy Hand and Miss Bennigan to take us to our sanctuary!"

"What a ride," gasped Randall. "I guess Miss B watched _Carrie_ or something 'cuz _ooh_! Man, the way that bucket tipped over and glopped that chicken blood all over him—the way he froze up before running out crying! Best night _eva_!"

High-fives were exchanged.

"Teamwork, fellas!" hooted Chris. "Hey, remember back in elementary school when we teamed up on him and his dearly departed old man? Good times!"

"Yeah, good times!" laughed Tod. "Oh, oh—remember when he was trying out for the football team, and we all tackled him and kicked the holy heck out of him before ripping off his jersey and dumping mud on him? Sure, we got in trouble, but it was worth it! He didn't show up after that, now did he?"

Laughter.

"Remember that time in art class when we glued colored pencils to his nose and called him a walrus?" chortled Fletch.

" _I_ remember when we made him _eat_ the glue!" guffawed Chris.

"And then there was the time when my mom packed me that awful stew of hers, and I dumped it onto him and told him to consider it a free lunch program!" Randall was in stitches.

"And the time during the senior prom when…" The four men sat there, reminiscing, laughing like hyenas at the recollections of how they made Grant miserable through the years. But so lost were they in their trip down Memory Lane that they didn't know that there was a fly on the wall—a very dangerous fly on the wall—who was gonna make them eat their words really soon!

"Let's all propose a toast," Chris said finally, "to the greatest d—bag to ever walk this earth!" He raised his glass. "To Grant! Rest in pieces, you weak pile of puke!"

"Hear, hear!" chimed in his companions as they clinked glasses.

After trading more stories and singing some drinking songs, the quartet decided to call it a night. They emptied the last of the spirits, bade each other good night, and stumbled off to their cabins.

To a fate worse than death.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"This is weird," murmured Quinn. "It says here that Howard died in a freak accident not long after Grant's suicide."

"That's karma for you," shrugged Ferdinand. "And the others?"

"Their arrest warrants are being drawn up as they speak," replied Quinn.

"Hey," Ferdinand said suddenly. "Tell me about our mutual friend in green, Luigi. How is he doing?"

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Fletch locked his door behind him and let out a massive belch. "We're sure gonna miss you, Grant," he murmured derisively as he stripped to his birthday suit and collapsed on his bed. He flopped onto his back and smiled contentedly—until metal cuffs clamped onto his wrists and ankles.

"What the?!" he shrieked in alarm.

The man in green revealed himself, hiding something behind his back. "How's it going, Fletch?" he asked.

And before Fletch could respond, Luigi pounced on him, jamming the taser into the former's package.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Bayo smiled when she opened the door to find Giulia standing there.

"Come in," she simply said.

Giulia stepped inside and followed Bayo to her room. The room was cast in a purple glow, crescent moon and butterfly cut-outs wrapped around her lamps. Music played on a stereo, and the curtains were flung open, moonlight pouring onto the bed.

"How's the view?" asked Bayo.

"Spectacular," replied Giulia.

The Umbra Witch joined Giulia at the window. They stood there for a few moments in silence. Then, Giulia took Bayo's mouth in hers for a powerful kiss.

Bayo spun her round and braced her against the windowsill, meeting Giulia's lips with her own. This policewoman sure could kiss! She'd never forget the softness of those lips or their taste—her mouth when she finally gained entry with her tongue—Giulia's own tongue slithering against hers. The kiss was deep and intense and wet, and as they kissed, hands explored bodies and fumbled over fabric as the bodies began to slither together.

They separated, and they ravenously scoured one another, panting. Bayo was the first to action, removing Giulia's shirt and bra and flicking her tongue along her breasts as she unfastened her skirt and removed her panties. The warm tongue danced up and down the length of Giulia's body, and then a soft hand slid between her thighs and worked her core. Giulia breathed heavily. This was the first time a woman had done this to her.

"You taste wonderful," breathed Bayo, her mouth peppering Giulia with delicious, sloppy and wet kisses while her hand curled and stroked. Her clothes started feeling like a prison, and she could feel the sweat on her, but she couldn't stop. She could see that Giulia had so much to work off, and what better way to help her than to do this? Her skin was so good against her tongue, her folds already giving beneath her hand. The sounds she was making—the arousing breaths and the way she gripped the windowsill to support herself. The moonlight washing over her olive skin and her hair—she was so beautiful!

"Oh! Bayo!" gasped Giulia as the Umbra Witch kept going.

The tongue undulated along the underside of Giulia's breasts before once again returning to the peaks, lingering before drawing down between the two and then back up, the mouth closing around one of them. Giulia released a great gasp, her body going taut. All she could think was Bayo—Bayo's mouth and Bayo's hand and Bayo's body teasing her beneath those stupid clothes and—

"Mm!" She grunted as she thrust into Bayo's hand, the mouth still tending to her breasts as the pleasure built, the hand plunging in sure strokes. Bayo's eyes studied the body in front of her, drinking in each reaction, each buck and shudder and weave. The beginnings of sweat coated her. Her breathing was in uncontrollable bursts. Her muscles were contracting around her hand. She allowed her mouth to let go of the breast it was currently working on with a _pop_ , using it to worship the rest of the policewoman's body. Upward strokes of the tongue, lips skimming and kissing. Her muscles growing tighter and tighter and—

"Bayo…" Liquid heat burst onto the Umbra Witch's hand and down her arm. Giulia's head was thrown back, her body shaking violently. Pleasure gripped her, invading her nerves and senses. The world was a white wall, her breathing a series of jerks. Her voice, screaming Bayo's name over and over.

The other woman took her in, quivering in anticipation. She kissed her and fondled her, cupping her breasts in her hand. "I'm known by another name," she said softly. "Cereza."

"Cereza," Giulia repeated.

"It'll sound better when you scream it," winked Bayo. "What you just experienced, Giulia, was merely the warm up." More kisses.

"I—I've never done this before," confessed Giulia.

"Neither have I," admitted Bayo. She reached up and undid her ponytail, allowing her raven hair to tumble down, framing her body.

That was it for Giulia. Frantically, she divested Bayo of her clothing, her arousal returning when she saw the lean, muscled and long body and the firm breasts. Bayo stood there and let Giulia become acquainted with her nakedness before drawing her close. Their breathing grew more and more labored as they kissed and touched and ground their bodies together. Minutes of sensation and warmth before Bayo offered up a long lick down Giulia's body and stepped away.

She returned a few seconds later with a jar of lotion. "Shall we begin?" she asked.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Fletch lay there, wide-eyed and helpless, as Luigi sat atop him, shocking him all over his body. Taser burns scored his skin, and the thing had been stuck into his mouth at one point. Once the taser ran out of juice, Luigi brandished a fish hook and plunged it into his stomach, tying the hook to a pulley and hoisting it until the hook was digging deep into his body. Now, his abdomen was off the bed, while the rest of his body remained on it. Perfect.

"Who are you?" bellowed Fletch. " _Who are you?!_ "

Luigi didn't respond. He just put those gloves back on and attacked the raised abdomen with brutal, heavy punches. Fletch's eyes rolled back in agony, and his roars only made Luigi slam at him harder and harder. His eyes were blue-black fire, his face twisted in hatred. He'd listened as Fletch and his little buddies talked about how they broke Grant down as if they were merely discussing an old family story. It made him sick! Seeing them there, sharing drinks and celebrating what they'd done—Luigi just snapped! His fists were a blur against that fleshy tummy, and he didn't stop until blood poured from the man's mouth.

Catching his breath, Luigi sat back, still atop Fletch, and pulled out the large knife. He ran a fiery finger along the blade, sterilizing it, before jamming it into the first spot of flesh he saw and dragging it—dragging it everywhere. Then, an idea came to him. He reached out, pulled his lower lip taut, and slowly sawed it off with the knife. He did the same to the upper lip before plunging the knife into the bridge of his nose and sawing off chunks at a time. For the final touch, he took his fists to the exposed bones of the nose and jaw, flurries of punches obliterating them.

"Oh, God!" cried Fletch.

Luigi punched him one last time and held up two smaller hooks. These he drove into his eyes, sending blood and gel splattering everywhere. He ground and twisted the hooks deeper and deeper before landing punches beneath both eye sockets, ensuring that both eyes were completely destroyed.

"Trust me," he said, "You don't want to see what I'm about to do."

Sterilizing the knife once more, Luigi zeroed in on Fletch's package, drawing his tongue about his lips. He propped it up in a soft hand and went to work. As soon as the knife hit the delicate flesh, Fletch screamed and writhed, but it didn't disturb Luigi in the slightest. First, he made precise circular cuts, neatly detaching the—nuggets. He had something special for the rest of the package, puncturing it with only the tip of the knife and making a careful slit down the middle, and then viciously pulling the thing in half with his fingers!

"Oh, God! Oh, God! Please!" screamed Fletch. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

"Why don't you tell that to Grant?" Luigi asked fiercely. "Oh, right—you can't—because he's dead!"

He got off of Fletch and forced his legs further apart, clenching his fist before he—

Fletch could only scream and scream as unbelievable pain ripped through him.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Bayo's lotion was slightly warm, as it had been heated in advance. First, she applied it to Giulia's neck and collarbone, her fingers tracing the bones and tendons and feeling the heightened pulse. Next came a generous application to her breasts, each touch and rub perking them up and increasing the sensitivity. Fingers and hands slathered the lotion on using deep, circular motions, working their way around the globules. Then, Bayo smeared the stuff onto the tummy and hips, massaging downward, her hands so light and soft.

Finally, Bayo scooped up a handful of lotion and slowly eased the saturated hand back into Giulia's core. Giulia gasped as the warmth spread through her insides, the hand easily sliding in and out. And as the hand pumped, the other hand worked the lotion into the inside of her thighs.

"God," she breathed.

The lotion was warmed to just the right temperature, not too hot, since it would hurt the delicate tissue. Bayo trailed her free hand along Giulia's lotion-softened form, licking her lips and gazing sensually at her. Giulia's mouth was wide open, breathing briskly, eyes staring at the ceiling and her hips bucking. Bayo captured her lips in steamy kisses and rubbed on more lotion. Her hand kept plunging, wetness mixing with lotion, and she continued until she felt Giulia starting to unravel.

Slowly, she withdrew the hand, and then replaced it with something else. Something warm, slick—and thick.

"Ah!" The toy sent a pleasured jolt through the policewoman, and she looked down to see it sheathed snugly in her, coated in lotion, Bayo's fist grasping it in the middle. The Umbra Witch waited for her lover to adjust to the toy before starting to move it in and out, making sure it hit that special spot.

"Wow—that feels so great," whispered Giulia, prompting Bayo to manipulate it faster and faster, sending it crashing against her special spot over and over. Bit by bit, Giulia was unraveling—that toy was filling her body, her soul and her being. She dug her nails into the windowsill, her gaze falling on Bayo's arm as it rapidly moved back and forth, her hips rocking in time with the toy, the warmth of the lotion—

Bayo watched Giulia as she thrust into the toy, her hair becoming disordered. She pushed the hair behind her ears and then caressed her back and her butt. Just as her body started to quiver, Bayo ceased her motions and lowered herself onto the other end of the toy with a deep sigh. Now, her body was practically skimming against the policewoman's.

"How's this?" she asked in Giulia's ear. "The one who explodes last gets to minister to the one who explodes first."

"You're on," gasped Giulia as the two started to thrust together.

Her hips slammed into the other woman's, eliciting a moan in response…

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Randall stirred as something hard slammed into his face. "Oh, for crying out loud," he groaned.

He felt the hard thing again. "Wake up," a voice barked.

"Are you kidding? I just fell asleep," mumbled Randall. "Ten more minutes!"

Something harder met his face, and that was when Randall could discern something on his chest, on his body and on his wrists and ankles.

"Oh, I guess you haven't heard. I'm giving the orders now," said the voice.

Randall's eyes opened to something blurry and green, and then closed. "Bite me," he mumbled.

"So—that's how you want to play it. Fine," snapped the voice.

Something closed round his neck as the hard thing hammered his face again and again. The cutoff of air jerked Randall's mind out of its slumbering state. His eyes shot open to reveal the hard thing as a fist, and another hand gripping his throat. He saw that heavy chains bound his wrists and ankles, and that the weight atop him was a man in green—

The punches stopped, and the man smiled at Randall. "Wakey-wakey. Rise and shine," he said.

"Who gave you permission to come on board?" Randall asked gruffly.

"I did." He released his grip on Randall's throat. "Sorry to interrupt your beauty rest, but we have stuff to talk about."

"No, we don't," said Randall. "I've never seen you before in my life, and you're not authorized to board this vessel. Now [ _bleep_ ] off." He settled back on the bed and started to go back to sleep.

Then, something clamped down on his bare chest, and Randall shot back awake, roaring.

"Now that's not a nice way to talk to someone," said Luigi, stroking his thumb over the fresh bite mark on Randall's skin, "especially someone who came to discuss what happened to a mutual friend."

Randall's eyes widened as the realization crashed down on him.

"Ah, so you know who I'm referring to," spat Luigi, viciously pinching a patch of skin on Randall's chest till it drew blood. "You may have escaped from the authorities, but you'll never escape from me."

"What do you want?" asked Randall.

"I want you to pay," replied Luigi, "and I'm not talking about money."

Something cold and metal was clapped round Randall's neck, and he could only watch as Luigi wound a chain through a loop in the device. He wrapped the other chain round his wrist and then caressed Randall's cheek.

"This is going to take some time, okay?" he said sweetly before yanking the chain—hard.

Randall gasped, his body thrashing as colors exploded before his eyes. Luigi watched his face change color and his eyelids flutter. Then, just before Randall went limp, the plumber allowed the chain to go slack.

"That was just the warm-up," he hissed.

"Oh, no," said Randall. "God, no. No!"

Luigi yanked the chain again, twisting it this time, staring deep into Randall's face as he struggled desperately for air. And then, he released. Yank, twist, release. Yank, twist, release. After only a few minutes of this, Luigi decided to move on to something else.

He attached two metal pincers to Randall's pecs. These pincers were fastened at the end of wires, and Luigi connected these wires to a contraption Randall hadn't seen before in his life. Luigi had assembled the contraption himself in the Batcave, prior to discovering the boat where these four were hiding out. Time to see how well it worked.

"What is that?" croaked Randall.

"You'll see," replied Luigi.

He turned a dial, and the wires went taut, making the pincers squeeze down. Randall let out a broken scream as Luigi turned the dial further and further. Finally, Luigi gave the dial one last huge turn. The pincers had pulled Randall's skin taut, and the metal cut into the skin, making him bleed.

"Very handy, don't you think?" asked Luigi. "Allow me to demonstrate another one of its features."

A small spark of electricity emerged on his index finger which steadily increased to lightning bolts. The lightning spread to the rest of his hand, and he flexed his fingers and his wrist before touching the index finger to the contraption. Electricity shot down the wires and to the pincers, where it then entered Randall's body.

As Randall went to scream, Luigi yanked the chain once more. The other man's body spasmed, eyes rolling back into his head at both the electrical current and the lack of oxygen. Before he could pass out, Luigi released the chain, yet kept the electricity flowing. Randall was so busy gasping for air that he had little strength to scream in pain.

Finally, Luigi removed his hand from the contraption, allowing it to cool off. Randall breathed raggedly, trying not to cry. "I hate you," he spat at the man in green.

"Really? Well, the feeling is mutual," Luigi retorted. He set the contraption aside and fished out a scalpel.

Slowly, almost gently, he pushed it into the skin below Randall's collarbone, drawing a smiley face from one shoulder to the other. Then, a line of cuts down each arm, followed by a long cut starting at the armpit and ending below the wrist. Deliberately, he cut his way down Randall's body, between the ribcage, the cuts on the lower abdomen taking shape to form letters.

 **BULLY**.

Luigi grinned at his handiwork and slowly continued to cut. Whenever Randall tried to scream, he yanked and twisted the chain. Whenever he tried to dissociate himself by closing his eyes, he set the scalpel aside and used his fists. Randall whimpered and sobbed. He was trapped in a living nightmare, and he knew there was no escape.

Just when Randall thought it couldn't get any worse, Luigi force-fed him a Mushroom and brought the contraption back out. This time, he generated an intense, bright blue pulse of electricity, making Randall watch as the currents danced about his fist. Then, without a warning, he mashed his fist into the contraption, once again sending the lightning sizzling into Randall's chest. The pain was made worse by the score of wounds on his body, wounds which Luigi would pry open whenever he lifted his fist from the contraption. Then, he'd jam his scalpel into the exposed tissue and cut some more. Cut, shock. Cut, shock. Over and over and over.

At last, Luigi was satiated, disconnected Randall from the contraption and put it away. He also released his neck from the collar. Sliding off the man, he produced a bucket of smelly chum, which he proceeded to smear onto the raw body. He crammed handfuls into his nose, mouth and ears. He made sure the stuff was as deep in the wounds as possible, and then he topped it off with a can of iodized salt.

"What do you think of that?" he asked when he was done.

"Please," sniffled Randall. "Please—I can't take it anymore. Please—stop…"

"Too late," said Luigi. "Many years too late."

He dipped his hands into a bucket of soapy water, washing off the chum. Then, he walked over to his iPhone, mounted on a Bluetooth speaker, and opened his music player. He scrolled down until he found the song he was looking for, and set it to repeat. Finally, he turned the volume up full blast.

The lightning returned to Luigi's fist as he stormed back toward Randall, his face so dark and dangerous that the man didn't even try to act tough. He blubbered and prayed aloud as the man in green knelt between his thighs and clenched his fist tighter, the electricity turning from blue to blue-green and finally a bright emerald with white flakes dancing in between.

"No!" screamed Randall. "Please! Anything but that, please!"

"This," Luigi told him in a quivering voice, "will not be over quickly. You will not enjoy this. I am no angel of mercy!"

And then he rammed the electrified fist in as the first peals of the song were heard.

 _ **In einem Bächlein helle,  
Da schoss in froher Eil'  
Die launische Forelle  
Vorueber wie ein Pfeil.  
Ich stand an dem Gestade  
Und sah in süsser Ruh'  
Des muntern Fishleins Bade  
Im klaren Bächlein zu. **_

_**Ein Fischer mit der Rute  
Wohl an dem Ufer stand,  
Und sah's mit kaltem Blute  
Wie sich das Fischlein wand.  
So lang dem Wasser helle  
So dacht' ich, nicht gebricht,  
So fängt er die Forelle  
Mit seiner Angel nicht.**_

 _ **Doch endlich ward dem Diebe  
**_ Die Zeit _ **zu lang.  
Er macht das Bächlein tückisch trübe,  
Und eh' ich es gedacht  
So zuckte seine Rute  
Das Fischlein zappelt dran,  
Und ich mit regem Blute  
Sah die Betrog'ne an.**_

 **Translation:**

 _ **In a clear little brook,  
There darted, about in happy haste,  
The moody trout  
Dashing everywhere like an arrow.  
I stood on the bank  
And watched, in sweet peace,  
The fish's bath  
In the clear little brook.**_

 _ **A fisherman with his gear  
Came to stand on the bank  
And watched with cold blood  
As the little fish weaved here and there.  
But as long as the water remains clear,  
I thought, no worry,  
He'll never catch the trout  
With his hook.**_

 _ **But finally, for the thief,  
Time seemed to pass too slowly.  
He made the little brook murky,  
And before I thought it could be,  
So his line twitched.  
There thrashed the fish,  
And I, with raging blood,  
Gazed on the betrayed one.**_

 **More to come.**


	34. The Thrill of the Hunt

**The Thrill of the Hunt**

 **Warning: Smut and violence!**

Chris, unaware of the fates of two of his mates, was awakened by his bladder and padded over to the head for a quick leak. He couldn't have heard anything, anyway—Luigi had soundproofed the walls of each cabin while casing the boat earlier. Any-who, Chris went to the head, unzipped his pants and drained his snake, whistling, never noticing the man in green creeping up behind him.

"Hello, Chris."

Chris turned at the sound of Luigi's voice, his junk still hanging out. He stood there, staring dumbly— _urinating_ all over the man in green.

Luigi didn't even flinch. He waited till the stream died down, and then crossed the room and put him in a sleeper hold before dragging him back to his cabin and cuffing him to a chair.

Chris awoke to a slight throbbing in his neck and a low hum of electricity. Then, a jolt went off between his legs, causing him to scream and snap to attention. "Who did that? Where am I? What's going on?"

Luigi knelt in front of him, now shirtless and clad in a pair of blue jeans and his usual brown boots, having tossed his soiled green-and-blue ensemble into the laundry room belowdecks while Chris was out of it. "I think you know the answers to those questions, my friend," he said, sending another jolt through Chris's package. "But I have a question for _you_ : Why did you use me as a latrine?"

"I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

Luigi straightened. "I know. But that's not why I'm going to do this to you."

"Do what?"

He was answered with an explosive punch to the jaw. "You know why I'm doing this, don't you?" asked Luigi.

"Wha?" slurred Chris.

 **Punch.** "Don't you?!"

"Yes, because you're a head case!" Chris said fearfully.

 **Punch.** "Guess again."

Punch after punch met Chris's face, Luigi's resentment toward the bound man increasing with each blow.

"Please stop…" Chris weakly begged.

"I'm losing my patience," warned Luigi, slamming and smashing Chris below the chin and on the chest.

"I don't know who you are and what you're talking about…"

"Recently, a flashlight salesman who grew up in a 'broken home' took his own life," Luigi told him, knifing his hand into Chris's neck and chest cavity again and again. "Ring any bells?"

As blood started spilling from his mouth, Chris knew he was screwed. "God—you knew him?"

"I was his best friend," snapped Luigi, "and you took him from me."

He wound up and delivered one last searing punch before stepping out of Chris's line of vision. The man barely had time to recover from his beatdown when a large hook impaled his shoulder. He went rigid from the shock as blood oozed from the wound and down his body. Then, he felt the hook slide deeper into his flesh as he was hoisted, chair and all, about two feet from the ground.

Music began to play, and this was a song he recognized well. That piece by Schubert about a trout swimming into a fisherman's trap, a piece he'd taught himself to play on piano. But he had no time to dwell on that as he was suddenly pushed, as if on a swing.

Dangling in the air, gravity did its job, aggravating the wound on Chris's shoulder. Luigi causally pushed Chris a few more times before deciding to do some real damage, grabbing the chair and roughly manipulating it in countless ways. Pulling it, twisting it, yanking it, spinning it, stretching the wound and deepening it. Then, he lowered the chair back to the ground and rammed another fish hook through the other shoulder, re-hoisting the chair and repeating the process until both shoulders were gaping, gory messes.

After lowering the chair for the final time, Luigi stood there, gasping for breath, while Chris gasped with sobs. The plumber gazed at the bound man malevolently.

"What are you crying for? I thought you were supposed to be tough."

Luigi put on those leather gloves and lit into him until Chris resembled more of an eggplant than a person. After that, he withdrew a piece of metal in the shape of an L and heated it up until it glowed emerald.

"Please," blubbered Chris, but Luigi harshly pressed the metal onto his bare skin, cooking and searing the flesh and leaving a deep, L-shaped brand. He made him watch as he set the metal alight again and burned L's into almost every part of his body. L's on his chest and shoulders. L's on his face and arms. L's on his thighs and legs. L's on his back. L's on his stomach, solar plexus, hips and pelvis. And a L on his package. And the louder Chris screamed, the more severely Luigi burned, placing the metal on already-branded areas simply to prolong the pain.

"Thing of beauty," Luigi said when he was finished. He blew out the metal, stuck it back into his pocket and disappeared briefly.

Chris heard him rummaging around, muttering. When Luigi found what he was looking for, he walked back toward him. And when Chris saw what he had in his hand, he began to dribble and wet himself. "What do you want?" he asked weakly. "What—do—you—want?"

Luigi grabbed Chris's legs and laid them out straight, and then held up the hammer and a long, sharp nail. "You know what I want," he replied.

He positioned the nail against Chris's left ankle and proceeded to brutally hammer it through flesh and concrete. With each hammer, the bully howled. Luigi repeated the process with the other ankle before nailing both his thighs to the chair.

"I figured I might stretch you out," Luigi explained with total nonchalance.

"You sicko! You're just as pathetic as he was!" bawled Chris.

"We'll see about that," smiled Luigi before hefting the hammer, mapping out the trajectory, and then—

 **BLAM!**

 **BLAM!**

 **BLAM!**

 **BLAM!**

Multiple atomic bombs seemed to explode between Chris's legs. Blood flew and spattered as Luigi hammered down, so to speak, on Chris. With each slam of the hammer came a primal scream of fury. Sweat glistened on the plumber's bare chest. His muscles flexed excitedly as he exerted himself. He'd already pulverized his target, but he continued hacking away with the hammer until he saw nothing but pulp. Noticing Chris's eyes glazing over, he fished out a Maxim tomato and shoved it into his mouth. Then, he stepped behind him—

"Mommy! _Mommy! HELP ME!_ " wailed Chris.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"Ah! Aaahh! Oh, [ _bleep_ ] yeah!" Giulia was screaming. Arched with her palms firmly on the windowsill, head thrown back, hips pistoning against the toy inside her. It was so deep in her that it was part of her; it invaded her mind and her senses and sent her into dizzying bliss. Her voice screamed and sighed and moaned as her pelvis mashed against Bayonetta's, the soft warmth of their waxed mounds mingling together with each push on the double-ender. The Umbra Witch's skin stood out in relief against Giulia's darker complexion, her thrusts slow and measured compared to the policewoman's ecstatic thrashing. That very body moving in and out with a slow, confident pace _really_ set Giulia off—the blemish-free skin, dotted with beads of sweat and the elaborate tattoo of a butterfly on Bayo's abdomen, weaving with her movements. And her own deep, measured breaths as she fought her own sensations. Bayo had slightly braced herself forward on that windowsill, her hair like the lapping waves of an ocean at midnight. Bare, soft, sweaty bodies ground, mashed and swiveled together, breasts sliding against breasts, both women focusing hard on the one across from them. Giulia's increasingly frenetic thrashes and cries of ecstasy. Bayo's brisk yet controlled tempo and her breaths and grunts. Muscles and skin reverberating with each thrust, impaling themselves deeper and deeper on the object.

Bayo pulled herself closer and closer to Giulia, the latter continuing to let out the loads and loads of angst, frustration and sexual tension which had plagued her for as long as she could remember. After losing Bella, she had been skeptical of committed relationships and tended to use herself for relief. But this—this was unlike anything she'd ever experienced, first the hand, then the lotion and now the—the object and how it set off bundles of nerves within her and Bayo's hips whipping lightly against hers—she'd never forget it or their jointly bouncing breasts or—

"Ooohhh…" Bayo drove herself deeper, beginning to lose her composure at the sight of Giulia unraveling before her eyes. The spastic thrashes, the beads of sweat flying off of her, the fervent screams of desire—it was getting too much! Her hands left the windowsill and went to Giulia's waist, pulling their bodies closer still. Nerves beating against nerves, heart pounding against heart, Bayo's eyes drinking in Giulia's eyes, the slick coolness of moistened skin, the sounds of heavy breathing and moaning. For over forty-five minutes, they'd stood in the moonlight, doing this. Feeling the pleasure and holding it in. Lips intermittently welding together and hands ghosting over curves and muscles and domes. Each trying to push the other toward the big finish before they reached it. A steamy game. Deep sighs and gasps and pants filled the room as the thrusts, kisses and fondles intensified and the waves of pleasure swelled and swelled and swelled!

Once Bayo started losing control of her breathing, Giulia started tipping over the edge. Her lower body jerked and shuddered, Bayo quickly noticing and working Giulia's bosom with her mouth.

"Ahh! Cereza! I'm gonna…" Giulia didn't finish the sentence; one final slam of her hips, and she was done. Bayo felt her toes curl as she watched the policewoman's body let go, skin and muscles snapping taut, grinding deep against the object, something warm squirting onto the skin just below her navel. And all the while, she was screaming her name again and again, spurring her on as she also approached the finish line.

No sooner had Giulia calmed down did Bayo release. "Giulia!" she cried as she exploded, hugging the other woman to her and breathing spastically as her finale ran its course. She slumped against the policewoman, still gasping her name. They stood in a heap in each other's arms, and then Bayo allowed herself to fall backwards onto the bed, pulling Giulia with her. They kissed and kissed, the object still shifting inside them, and then Bayo rolled them over and sensuously rolled her hips, at the same time stroking Giulia's folds, smiling as the policewoman's hips rolled in response.

This could be love!

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Tod was curled up in his bunk, sleeping like a baby, when the door crashed open.

"What is it?" he asked sleepily.

"Are you proud of yourself for bullying another man to death?" asked Luigi.

"Huh?"

"I believe you heard me quite well," said Luigi, striding into the room and closing the door behind him. "A man asphyxiated himself using the exhaust from his car. And you and your friends were celebrating it."

"Yeah? And what's that to you?" mumbled Tod, half-asleep and having no idea who he was talking to. "You his best friend or something? 'Cuz he wouldn't have been that much of a friend after we were done with him. I hope he's burning in Hell along with his old man. Serves that insect—zzzzz…"

Luigi stood at the foot of the bunk, anger pouring from his body in waves. In two strides, he reached Tod, grabbed him and hurled him out of the bunk.

"Hey! What…?"

Luigi kicked him squarely in the face, and then a few times in his midsection before snatching him up and pinning him against the wall.

"You should've known this was coming, Tod," warned Luigi before pummeling him violently. Tod struggled feebly against the assault, but it was no use. He'd been caught off-guard with his drowsiness.

Luigi ceased his punches and studied Tod, as if contemplating. "Tell you what—I'll let you go back to sleep for a while. _Then_ we'll talk."

On those words, he jammed three electrified fingers into Tod's neck—

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

When Tod came to, Luigi was standing before him, smiling. "Hey, Tod," he said. "I see that little nap did you some good."

Tod glanced around. He was still in his room—only this time, he was completely naked and chained to the wall. A classical piece he recognized as Schubert was playing somewhere.

"Now that you're nice and aware of your surroundings, let's try this again," Luigi went on. "Are you proud of yourself for what you did to Grant? You sure sounded proud earlier."

"That's none of your d—n business," spat Tod.

"Oh, yes it is," Luigi spat back, "because I was his friend. I watched him fall apart. And when he ended it all, I found his body."

It didn't take long for Tod to put two and two together. The color drained from his face. "Please," he gasped. "I don't want any trouble, okay?"

"You should've thought of that earlier," retorted Luigi. "Last chance—are you proud of yourself?"

"Yes! Yes, I am!" roared Tod. "That man was nothing! Nothing! This world is well rid of him!"

As soon as those words left his mouth, Tod wished he could take them back. Quivering with ire, Luigi slid on a pair of brass knuckles and got right in Tod's face. "You want to rephrase that?" he asked in a jerky voice.

"I didn't…" But Tod was interrupted as the plumber laid into him with savage blows. No part of his body was spared from this beatdown, not even the area between his legs. There was no time to breathe or to scream for help as Luigi's arms pumped and pumped, feral yet precise and experienced. Tod could feel the skin tearing away from his face and body, and those areas quickly became Luigi's favorite targets as he sought to inflict maximum damage.

Luigi kept going till his arms got tired. Then, he pulled out a Mushroom and made Tod eat it.

"Don't hurt me!" Tod intreated. "Just give me a chance. Just give me a chance!"

"What about Grant?" snapped Luigi. "Did you give him a chance? Did you?!"

In a fury, he started a new round of punching, slamming his fists into beaten, lacerated skin. Tod screamed and struggled against his bonds, which only shot Luigi's adrenaline into overdrive. He stopped letting his blows fall randomly and focused exclusively on the face, trunk and groin. The sounds grew wet. Bones splintered. Luigi paused every so often to feed Tod a Mushroom or a Maxim Tomato or some other healing item and then continued to use him as a Sandbag, each beatdown worse than the previous.

Tod had no idea how much time had passed, but it felt like an eon. He hung limp against his bonds, trying to find his happy place as Luigi tore up his body ten—one hundred—one million times over. After reducing his face and trunk to a pulp, Luigi decided to further attack the package, clubbing it with relentless, rock-hard strikes as Tod flopped like a fish out of water and begged him to stop.

Luigi went on and on until he started feeling tired. After a final, splattering punch, he stepped away from Tod and switched to a different song on his music player.

"I believe this is your favorite," he said as he fetched his hammer and a pair of gardening stakes.

"What are you gonna do with those?" wailed Tod.

"What do you think?" asked Luigi as he took one gardening stake and pressed it against Tod's kneecap.

Pain erupted as Luigi hammered the stake into skin, cartilage and bone. He waited several seconds between each swing, prolonging the agony and terror.

 **Let me sail, let me sail,  
Let the Orinoco Flow,  
Let me reach, let me beach  
On the shores of Tripoli.  
Let me sail, let me sail,  
Let me crash upon your shore,  
Let me reach, let me beach  
Far beyond the Yellow Sea.**

 **Sail away, sail away, sail away. [x4]**

Once the stake was firmly lodged in the kneecap, Luigi gave the side of the kneecap one last punch. Tod roared.

"I haven't even started yet," said Luigi.

He took the other stake and hammered it into the other kneecap before punching it into oblivion. Tod roared, but it was weaker, like a wounded animal on its last leg.

 **From Bissau to Palau, in the shade of Avalon,  
From Fiji to Tiree and the Isles of Ebony,  
From Peru to Cebu hear the power of Babylon,  
From Bali to Cali, far beneath the Coral Sea.**

 **Turn it up, turn it up, turn it up, up, adieu. Oh. [x3]**

 **Sail away, sail away, sail away. [x4]**

"Remember this?" asked Luigi, holding up a dead rat with a slit down the middle and then using his hands to open up the creature. Tod recoiled, but Luigi would have none of it. He scooped out a handful of the rat's innards and forced the bully's mouth open. "You know—back in the days when there was no refrigeration, and when the food got short, sailors had to eat a lot of nasty stuff to survive," he said as he crammed the rat innards into Tod's mouth and made him chew and swallow. Then, he scooped up another handful, and another, and another, until the rat had been totally disemboweled.

 **From the North to the South, Ebudæ into Khartoum,  
From the deep sea of Clouds to the island of the moon,  
Carry me on the waves to the lands I've never been,  
Carry me on the waves to the lands I've never seen.  
We can sail, we can sail with the Orinoco Flow,  
We can sail, we can sail.  
(Sail away, sail away, sail away)**

 **We can steer, we can near  
With Rob Dickins at the wheel,  
We can sigh, say goodbye Ross and his dependencies  
We can sail, we can sail  
(Sail away, sail away, sail away)**

"Stop crying and take it like a man," Luigi barked as he noticed Tod crying. "Isn't that what you said to Grant?"

Tod threw his head to the side and vomited.

"You're vile and disgusting, you know that?" huffed Luigi as he shoved what remained of the dead rat into Tod's mouth. After cleaning up the puke, he put the brass knuckles back on. Sweat was pouring down his body and his heart pumped—he never thought this much anger would remain, but man! He couldn't stop thinking about that final phone call and his body still warm, rescue arriving only minutes too late—

And as Luigi approached Tod, he _knew_ what he was going to do to him next. The captive man made muffled noises through the dead rat in his mouth and shook his head a desperate "No!"

Mouth clenched dangerously, Luigi nodded yes and plunged a fist in, tearing into Tod with those brass knuckles. The man's muffled cries were drowned out by the music.

 **We can reach, we can beach,  
On the shores of Tripoli,  
We can sail, we can sail  
(Sail away, sail away, sail away)  
From Bali to Cali, far beneath the Coral Sea,  
We can sail, we can sail  
(Sail away, sail away, sail away)  
From Bissau to Palau, in the shade of Avalon,  
We can sail, we can sail  
(Sail away, sail away, sail away)  
We can reach, we can beach,  
Far beyond the Yellow Sea,  
We can sail, we can sail  
(Sail away, sail away, sail away)  
From Peru to Cebu hear the power of Babylon,  
We can sail, we can sail.  
(Sail away, sail away, sail away)  
We can sail, we can sail.**

 **Sail away, sail away, sail away. [x5]**

 **More to come!**


	35. Hunter's Season

**Hunter's Season**

 **Warning for graphic smut and violence**

"Oh, God—oh, God—OH MY GOD!" Giulia cried out as she came apart for the ninth (or nineteenth) time, the body above her also caving to pleasure and Bayo's cry joining hers. Bayo released a long breath and collapsed atop Giulia, and then propped herself up on her elbows, her breasts slightly flattened against the policewoman's, brushing her hair from her face and smiling down at her.

They lay there in nirvana, savoring the double-ender filling them and joining their bodies. Giulia slid her arms around Bayo, and they kissed, slow and sensual, grinding their bodies. After over five minutes of this, Bayo released a small "Oh…" as she slid off the toy, and Giulia followed suit. The ladies took turns tasting one another on it before Bayo put it back where she found it.

"Wait here," she whispered to Giulia, laying a sleeping mask over her eyes and padding, still naked, out of the bedroom.

Giulia heard the clattering of dishes, a microwave humming, and Bayo fussing. Then, her soft footfalls as she walked back in, and the smell of peanut butter.

Smiling, Bayo set the tray on the nightstand, and then climbed onto Giulia, studying her slightly parted lips and her flaring nostrils, the sweat on her body drying. She allowed her fingers to skate over her figure before leaning down and kissing her, probing her mouth. Then, she straightened, took an art-and-crafts-size paintbrush, and dipped it into the warm peanut butter.

Placing the brush on Giulia's left nipple, the Umbra Witch began smearing the peanut butter on in slow, circular motions, feather-light strokes working round the sensitive bud. And as it hardened, she heard Giulia draw in a deep, controlled breath. Satisfied with the reaction, she danced the brush across the very tip of the bud before winding the trail of peanut butter down to the base of the hill. Taking the dish of peanut butter into her lap, she swirled it onto the other breast, this time starting at the bottom and working her way up to the nipple. When she was finished, she topped both breasts with a dollop of peanut butter.

Scouring the rest of her lover's body, Bayo couldn't wait to turn her into a delectable masterpiece. Dipping the brush in again, she allowed some excess peanut butter to drizzle between Giulia's breasts before touching the brush to her skin. Each upward stroke traced the contours of her muscles, the patterns of her ribs, the swirl of her navel. Giulia's breath hitched and then came out in open-mouthed bursts. It was as if the feeling of the brush and the peanut butter was amplified without her sense of sight. Gliding and dancing over her body and then lifting to dip into more peanut butter. She gave a small hiss when she felt the brush on her collarbone; she was ticklish up there.

A line of peanut butter below the collarbone. A line on it. Then a line above it. Bayo marveled over the defined sculpture of that collarbone, of that neck, of her, period. She traced the tendons on the neck, the base of the chin. And then back down to her waistline and her hipbone, her hip muscles, taking her time with each hip. Once Giulia's trunk was coated entirely with peanut butter, Bayo tipped the dish slightly and allowed some of the peanut butter to flow down the other woman's body. Then, she discarded the brush; she'd use her fingers from now on.

She dipped her fingers in the peanut butter and extended them towards Giulia's mouth. Giulia felt the fingers touching her lips and parted them further, allowing them entry. The taste and texture of peanut butter filled her mouth. Sweet, velvety. Bayo fed her more gobs of peanut butter, and after coating her own mouth with it, she set the dish aside and gave Giulia a peanut buttery kiss. The two sighed as their respective mouthfuls of peanut butter slid over each other and their tongues licked and lapped it away. They separated only for Bayo to dip some more peanut butter into Giulia's mouth, and then they engaged in a hotter kiss, their passion and lust unrestrained. This repeated for twenty-five or so minutes before Bayo decided to move to the fun part.

Scooting her body down, the Umbra Witch scooped up a big handful of the peanut butter and applied generous amounts to the insides of Giulia's thighs, shuddering at the sound of her soft moans. She rubbed more peanut butter onto her mound and up and down her slit before slathering one hand with peanut butter and inserting it into Giulia's core.

"Nngh! Oh, my God!" rasped out Giulia as the peanut-buttered hand crashed deep into her, rapidly slamming in and out. She fisted the bedsheets as her lower body kept time with Bayo's hand. The hand's precise angles and the warm softness—that alone was enough for the shudders and thrashes to once again overpower the policewoman.

Bayo's mouth flew open, her breath slackening into deep pants as she watched the peanut-buttered body thrash and weave. She put her lust and desire into that shoulder, that arm, that hand. She pulled the hand out just long enough to cover the whole limb with peanut butter and then slid it back in and continued, deeper and more frenzied. Her arm was on autopilot, cranking in and out; she could feel the muscles from her wrist to her shoulder working. She observed her arm, and then what the arm was doing to Giulia. Broken sounds spewing from her lips, everything she'd stored inside her finally breaking loose as she screamed with need.

"Keep that up, and someone will call the police on us," panted Bayo, working her arm faster still.

" _I AM THE POLICE!_ " bellowed Giulia. " _CEREZA, PLEASE DON'T STOP! FOR GOD'S SAKE, PLEASE DON'T STOP!"_

"I don't intend to," promised Bayo as she kept pumping her arm.

" _OH, MAN! THIS IS SOMETHING ELSE!_ " In a slightly smaller voice, "[ _Bleep_ ], Cereza…"

Bayo's arm continued driving Giulia mad until the muscles started to ache. After she slid it out, she looked over Giulia before propping herself on her palms and licking off the peanut butter she'd applied, starting with the neck and then the chest—

"Oooohhhh…" uttered Giulia as her lover took her time tasting the peanut butter on her domes, playing with the undersides and then the tops. "Mmmmm…"

From the chest to her torso. From her torso to her belly. From her belly to her hips. From her hips to her…

Kisses peppered her thighs, drawing closer to her center. And then Bayo positioned her mouth, flicked out her tongue and…

" _Cereza…_ "

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Quinn groaned as her phone trilled urgently at her. She answered with a mumbled "Yeah?"

"Sorry to bother you, Cap'n," said Ferdinand, "but an anonymous source just sent our offices some information regarding Grant's ex-boss."

"Is it good enough to rouse me this early in the morning?" asked Quinn.

"You're gonna thank me in a minute," said Ferdinand. "Guess who wired $6,500,000 into his account the day before he terminated poor Grant's employment?"

"Howard?"

"Nope. Some guy named Carl Hauser. Who has the same initials as Carter Hansen."

"Who just might be the same person," Quinn finished for her. "D—n, this is getting juicy!"

"I got my best people working overtime on this case," said Ferdinand. "We'll keep you posted."

"Thanks," smiled Quinn before hanging up.

As she settled back into bed, her husband stirred next to her. "Who was that?" he asked.

"It's a case I'm working," Quinn explained. "Go back to sleep."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

At Grant's former place of employment, Gil Huph (pronounced "Huff"), the man in charge, sat in his office, working afterhours. Life for him and his employees had considerably improved since he relieved Grant of his duties. He'd been shaping up to do that long before Crazy Hand and two of his humanoid friends he called Primids paid him a visit. The sums of money had only been further incentive. And three-and-a-half months after giving Grant the dreaded pink slip, Huph saw the guy in the obituary section of every last paper. His suicide was all over the news and social media, people boo-hooing about what a great man he was. And Grant's surviving friends were vilifying him, as if he'd done something wrong.

He'd merely shown the runt salesman where he belonged—out of his company and on the streets. Grant had begun to upstage the more popular workers, and Huph didn't want that. But he couldn't risk getting buried in a wrongful termination lawsuit. So, he waited—and waited—for the perfect chance to boot him. And the moment he saw that video, he knew that his waiting had paid off.

Huph had started making arrangements for the firing when Crazy Hand and his Primid companions showed up. The Hand of Destruction had offered him a whopping $65 million to put that worthless employee on a bus, plus monthly payments of $100,000 to ensure his continued loyalty. Dollar signs in his eyes, Huph had accepted, and he was honored to learn that he was also participating in a scheme to put someone who'd greatly wronged Crazy Hand in his place. As a precaution, he'd waited until after the wire transfer was complete to fire Grant. He'd phoned CH as soon as the job was done, and when he read the obituary, he'd laughed out loud. In the world of business, it was make it or break it, and Grant had broken it.

Currently, Huph took a break from his work, thinking about the nice things he was going to do with his money. He hadn't expected Grant to take that avenue, but he wasn't sorry that he did. Thanks to him and to Crazy Hand and Howard, there was one less lousy person on this Earth. Speaking of which, he'd finally found the perfect replacement for Grant, and the interview was tomorrow afternoon.

He was jolted out of his thoughts when the phone rang.

"Hello?" he answered cheerfully.

"Gil Huph?" asked the voice on the other end.

"Yes, speaking."

"I'm calling for a mutual friend."

"Okay…" said Huph.

"He wants me to personally deliver something special for you," said the voice. "He says it's from the heart."

"Ah," said Huph, "so the dear floating hand wants to show his appreciation. I'm afraid the mail office is closed for the night, so you'll have to leave it outside. One of my assistants will bring it up in the morning."

"Okay." And then the line went dead.

Huph powered off his computer, stood up and stretched. He'd done enough work for the night. Now, his nice, warm bed at home was calling to him, and he _did_ have that interview tomorrow afternoon—

Jacket and briefcase in hand, Huph walked to the door, opened it, and—

"Special delivery!" Luigi loudly announced before landing a fiery punch to Huph's face, sending him flying.

Stunned, Huph could only lay on his back as Luigi locked the door behind him and stormed over to where he was crumpled. He was back in his overalls and green shirt, having retrieved them as he exited the boat. He'd come back for the four men on that boat several times, each time bearing more karma than the last, and after he'd tired of hearing them scream, he'd lashed them to barrels and tossed them overboard, to face the sharks or starvation on some barren island. On his way home, Evan had called, telling him that Huph had been bribed into firing Grant, setting off the chain reaction leading to his suicide. A quick glance at his watch later, Luigi decided that he had plenty of time and made a detour to his friend's former place of business.

"Who are you?! Who let you in here?!" screeched Huph as he struggled up.

Luigi stomped on his solar plexus, forcing him back down. "I'll ask the questions here," he snapped, "and each time you give me an answer which displeases me, something's gonna be broken, cut, or burned—or all three. And I guarantee you— _they will be things that you'll miss_."

"Now wait a d—ned minute, mister!" balked Huph. "Do you know who the [ _bleep_ ] I am? Do you know who the [ _bleep_ ] I am?!"

Luigi grabbed the back of his collar and hauled him up. "I do now, you piece of scum," he said coldly as he dragged Huph to his chair and zip-tied him to it.

"Help! Security!" screamed Huph.

 _Crack._ "Nobody can hear you," Luigi assured him, removing Huph's jacket and tearing off his dress shirt.

"So," he said casually, "it seems that someone put you up to firing Grant, which directly led to his suicide." He removed Huph's shoes, socks and slacks, leaving him only in his briefs.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Huph said shakily.

 _POW._ Another punch collided with his face. "There's no use playing dumb," said Luigi. "An individual by the name of Carl Hauser gave you $65 million, plus 100 grand in monthly installments, to humiliate and fire my best friend, ruining his life. Which," the man in green slid on his brass knuckles as he spoke, "is a pseudonym for Crazy Hand, is it not?"

"I don't know who this Crazy Hand is; this stuff comes in the mail!" cried Huph.

"You're lying," growled Luigi, delivering an awesome volley of punches to Huph's face. "We spoke on the phone seconds ago. And you mentioned 'a dear floating hand'." Punch. Punch. "So if Crazy Hand isn't the 'dear floating hand' in question, then who is it? It certainly can't be his benevolent brother, Master Hand." He punched over and over.

"I swear, I've never met him before in my life!" shouted Huph.

"You should know that Crazy Hand had it in for me since Melee," said Luigi, lighting up a plume of fire on his index finger and searing Huph's trunk. "He colluded with three brothers obsessed with ruining my name to ruin my life. The last I saw of him, he was bound in chains and headed for the Minus World. I fully expected that to be the final time I laid eyes on him."

He took a hammer and a box of nails, kneeling at Huph's bare feet. "Were you in cahoots with Crazy Hand?"

"Whoever you are, I swear, I wasn't…"

He screamed as Luigi drove a nail through his big toe. "This little piggy went to market," he said. "The evidence I have points to the contrary, Mr. Huph. I have a link on my phone containing e-mail messages to the pseudonym Carl Hauser, chat transcripts and copies of the wire transfers. As to who I am—I'm Grant's friend, Luigi. Perhaps you've heard of me? No?" He hammered the second toe. "This little piggy stayed home. Next question: why did you do it?"

"Isn't it obvious? I hated Grant's guts! Almost everyone here did!" moaned Huph.

Third toe. "This little piggy had roast beef. And what made you accept Crazy Hand's offer?"

"Please! I needed the money!"

"Yeah. I bet." Luigi hammered the fourth toe. "This little piggy stayed home. And this little piggy…" Without even bothering with a nail, he smashed the hammer into the baby toe over and over until it was barely visible in a pool of blood.

"Luigi, I swear to God…"

"Swear to me!" Luigi broke in, driving a hammer through Huph's foot.

Huph started to cry.

"Howard and his friends—they helped Crazy Hand escape, didn't they?" asked Luigi.

"I don't know!" sobbed Huph. "He told me nothing!"

Luigi started in on the other foot, nailing the toes into the ground one by one.

"I don't even know who Howard is! Please, Luigi!"

"Then why was I sent photos taken of you with him celebrating shortly after my friend ended his own life?" Luigi demanded of Huph, driving one last nail through the foot.

Dropping the hammer, Luigi produced a rubber stamp in the shape of an "L" and heated it up with his index finger. Then, he jammed it into the center of Huph's chest and pressed it in deep.

"I'm going easy on you now," he said. "It's only gonna get worse if you don't give yourself up."

Huph continued to blubber and plead his innocence, so Luigi kept on branding him with the stamp. By the time he was finished, Huph's chest, stomach, arms and legs were covered in the letter "L".

"Anything you want to say?" asked Luigi.

"Roast in the flames," Huph choked out.

Luigi saw red and punched Huph in the face until he heard something snap, and then focused on the burnt, branded body. By the time he stopped, the bound man's ears were ringing, and breathing caused him great pain. Then, his head was slammed forward into the desk, again and again and again, and on the last time, Luigi made Huph bite down on the mahogany before blasting his fists into both sides of his jaw and the point of his chin. Blood, tissue and teeth tumbled from his mouth.

Keeping Huph braced forward against the desk, Luigi whipped off his briefs and produced a gardening stake. "One last question—did you know what they were doing to Grant in that video?"

"In fact, I did," Huph said in a resigned monotone, "but the fact that he exhibited it was a blatant violation of our company policy."

"Here's where you're wrong," Luigi said in Huph's ear. "Grant didn't exhibit that video. Howard posted it without his consent!"

"What's the difference? My board members saw him in that situation!" Huph snapped defensively. "And if you look closer at that video, you'll see that Grant enjoyed some of it! Oh, yeah—there's one pivotal part of the video where they made him…"

Luigi had heard enough. With a yell of anger, he rammed the stake inside Huph.

"You smug [ _bleep_ ]!" he screamed. "Let's see if you enjoy _this_!"

Nobody was there to hear Gil Huph scream as Luigi slammed the stake in and out with brute force, giving the man exactly what he deserved.

And quite frankly, nobody cared.

 **Please review!**


	36. Interlude: Miracles in the Fog

**Miracles in the Fog**

 **Fluff ahead!**

 _ **Leni's POV**_

 **Fourth morning this week I've been bent over the toilet, throwing up. Chunks of partially digested food and stomach acid spilling from my mouth and splashing into the toilet bowl. In my mind, I've been going over my diet lately, or wondering if there's a stomach virus floating around, something the kids picked up at school. But mostly I'm thinking that now is the worst time for this to happen.**

 _ **Oh, man—make it stop!**_ **I think to myself as my hurling ceases and I slowly straighten, rising my mouth out with cold tap water. I'm almost done settling Grant's estate and cleaning out his room—but that bare room is a reminder of what this house has lost. The kids and I have started brainstorming ways we can use it—a recreation room, maybe? I think Grant would've liked that.**

 **Aside from the morning sickness, I'm doing fine. I'm far from being the stereotypical shutterbug widow, taking care of myself, eating right, hitting the gym and going for jogs. Being cocooned in grief isn't an option with four young kids in the house. Alex and Nora are old enough to do chores, and Grant and I have been weaning them off their parental dependency long before this happened, but still. They're just as broken up as me. They need a mother. They need at least one parental unit to set them on the right path. Will neglecting my kids bring Grant back? No. Will feeling sorry for myself bring him back? No. Will dwelling on what I should've done bring him back? No, no, no.**

 **Nora's taking on some more responsibilities lately, helping me take care of her siblings, helping me balance the checkbook, mediating squabbles, cooking with me in the kitchen—even breaking out the toolbox and fixing things just like Grant used to. She's thinking about taking driving lessons, too. Going on sweet sixteen, and she wants to drive a car. I get that she wants to be independent, but—**

 **Alex is trying to be "the man of the house", but he tends to overdo it sometimes. He acts quite bossy around his siblings, and Nora and I have to call him on it. But he's learning, though. He must've learned something from Grant and Luigi's brief falling-out, because he controls his temper more and avoids starting fights. He makes his younger siblings laugh rather than pick on them, helps them clean up their messes—even watches little kid cartoons with them, switching to big kid cartoons once they've had their fill. I see them in the backyard, kicking a soccer ball around. I overhear them making plans to build a tree house. I think that losing their father has helped them appreciate who and what they have, because they won't be around forever.**

 **Shelia's managing, too. She's learning to style her hair, apply makeup, paint her nails, ride a bike and Rollerblade. Each time she learns a bike trick, she shows it off to all of us. I help teach her bike safety, too, fastening a pair of Grant's travel-sized flashlights into headlights and taking her to the bike store to buy reflectors, oil, inflators and bike repair tools. When she's not practicing on her bike, she's playing Smash for the Wii U with her siblings, or** _ **Mario Party 10**_ **or** _ **Mario Tennis: Ultra Smash**_ **. Sometimes, she breaks out the Nintendo Switch for** _ **Mario Kart 8 Deluxe**_ **or** _ **1, 2 Switch**_. **You should hear her voicing her anticipation over** _ **Super Mario Odyssey**_ **.**

 **Dan—he's kinda quiet lately. Ever since he broke down at the service, he's shown little to no emotion. He's distracting himself with school and his favorite activities and playing with his older siblings. Grant and Dan were very close, especially when the latter was in the hospital with a broken jaw. I tell him that he can't bottle his feelings in, but he tells me he's fine. Nora and I know he's just numb, and that soon the reality will catch up with him. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and hopefully, acceptance.**

 **To tell the truth, I have no idea which stage I'm on.**

 **As for Luigi, he seems to be doing well. He looked okay the last time we spoke. He joins me and the kids when we go on outings, and he almost always brings his Polterpup along. I can't read his mind, so I can't tell you how he's coping. Only the author can, but that's missing the point. What I'm saying is that he needs the company, and the kids and I need him. We need to rely on each other to gain some closure over losing Grant and then move on.**

 **Still, when I look at him, I can't help but wonder if he's hiding something—**

 **Which brings us here. To me throwing up every morning and wondering why. Is my grief really getting to me? Am I stressing over what's coming next? Am I secretly worried over Luigi's well-being? Am I…?**

 **Wait.**

 **I haven't had my time of the month yet!**

 **Oh, my goodness? Could I be?**

 **Could I be…?**

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 **The next day, I pay a visit to Dr. Mario.**

 **"How've you been?" he asked.**

 **"Good. The kids are doing good, too."**

 **"Luigi…?"**

 **"He's—managing."**

 **Dr. Mario accepts that response. "So—what brings you here?"**

 **"First of all, I'm dealing with morning sickness—really bad morning sickness. And—I'm late."**

 **He asks me some medical-related questions and seems to arrive at the same conclusion I have. A Mii nurse helps me submit a blood and urine sample, and then I head home.**

 **About a month or so later, Dr. Mario phones me just as I return from dropping off the kids at school.**

 **"Leni—congratulations," he says.**

 **I can't believe it. Shakily, I ask him. "How far along?"**

 **"About nine weeks," he replies warmly. "Tell your kids that there's about to be a new addition to the family."**

 **"Wow," I breathe as I trail a hand over my belly.**

 **Grant's not gone. I see his eyes when my babies look at me. I feel his presence among the stars at night. I hear his chipper laughter in every sunrise. And now—he's given me a reason to keep on living. A piece of him, growing inside me.**

 **"Hi, little one," I coo to my stomach. "Mommy's here. Mommy's got you. And I'll never let anything bad happen to you."**

 **Then, I pick the phone back up and set up an appointment with an obstetrician.**

 _ **Grant—thank you.**_

* * *

 _ **Nora's POV**_

 **Even before Mom tells us the news, I already know. The vomiting in the morning, the occasional mood swings, the slight bloating. Another little brother or sister is on the way.**

 **Maybe there's use for Dad's old room after all—**

* * *

 _ **Alex's POV**_

 **Mom is pregnant again! I hope it's a boy! Maybe I can teach him how to ride a skateboard and play baseball and how to be a Power Ranger and watch my favorite movies with him!**

 **But I won't mind if I get a little sister. Maybe I can cuddle with her and teach her how to build things with Legos. Maybe she'll grow up to like my comic books. Maybe she'll be just like Dad, with a knack for selling things. Maybe—**

* * *

 _ **Shelia's POV**_

 **Mom tells me that the baby is so small that we can't see it yet. When it grows bigger, her tummy will start to stretch, and we'll get to see the baby kicking! And then we'll find out if it's a boy or a girl. I hope I get** **another sister!**

* * *

 _ **Dan's POV**_

 **My dad's gone, and it hurts, but seeing the baby growing inside Mom will make me feel a little better. Miracles** _ **do**_ **happen, after all.**

* * *

 _ **Spirit's POV**_

 **Arf! Arf! Woof! Grrrrufff!**

* * *

 ** _There are times when only a Mother's love  
Can understand our tears,  
Can soothe our disappointments  
And calm all of our fears._**

 _ **There are times when only a Mother's love**_  
 _ **Can share the joy we feel**_  
 _ **When something we have dreamed about**_  
 _ **Quite suddenly is real.**_

 _ **There are times when only a Mother's faith**_  
 _ **Can help us on life's way**_  
 _ **And inspire in us the confidence**_  
 _ **We need from day to day.**_

 _ **For a Mother's heart and a Mother's faith**_  
 _ **And a Mother's steadfast love**_  
 _ **Were fashioned by the Angels**_  
 _ **And sent from God above.**_

 ** _-Michael Olakunle Adesanya_**

 **Please review.**


	37. Corruption Stew

**Corruption Stew**

 **Contains graphic violence**

In the offices of the FBI, a corruption probe was going down. As Ferdinand and her men and women intensified the search for the rogue Agent Stanley, they discovered that he'd taken a few others into this, as well. This treachery reached several stories up the bureaucratic level, ensnaring some high-profile administrative officials in its web. And it seemed that either Carter Hadley or Carl Hauser, whoever they were, pulled the strings.

One by one, the corrupt officials were hauled into custody. A few blubbered that the one to whom they answered had threatened them and their families. More jumped at the chance to make deals, giving up information in exchange for lighter sentences. All denied knowing Stanley's whereabouts or the existence of a Carter Hadley or a Carl Hauser. All were speedily tried, fired from their jobs and sentenced to hard time in a federal prison. Yet even with the tumor of corruption excised from their agency, the FBI still knew nothing about Stanley or Carter Hadley or Carl Hauser.

But one did.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

A train pulled into Sarasaland Station, emptying its load of passengers and taking on a new load. Among the freshly arrived was a dapper, clean-shaven man in a 3-piece navy suit and carrying a sophisticated briefcase. This was ex-Agent Phillip Stanley.

Escorted by two Primids, Stanley proceeded to the hotel suite already paid for by "Carter Hadley", a.k.a. Crazy Hand. As soon as he was settled in, the Primids told him to meet them downstairs for dinner at 6:30 sharp and then departed.

Unbeknownst to them, a woman on that train had recognized Stanley by sight. And this woman just so happened to be Chrysanthemum, one of Daisy's ladies-in-waiting! She kept to herself till she got to Daisy's castle.

"It seems that Stanley intends to hide out here in Sarasaland," said Chrys.

"Well that's stupid," mused Daisy. "Does he know that its ruler is the girlfriend of the one he's targeted?"

"Maybe not. Shall I send word to him?"

"No, thank you. I already have everything arranged," smiled Daisy. "Good work, Chrys. Expect a hefty bonus in your paycheck at the end of the month."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Later that day, at the support group meeting, the attendees had already formed a circle, waiting for Dr. Thorpe to arrive.

"L," whispered Caroline, "can I tell you something?"

"Sure," said Luigi.

Caroline beckoned him over to the snack area. "Remember when I talked about how I cut the hair off of one of my bullies?"

"Yeah," nodded Luigi. "That was something else."

"Well, I didn't stop there," smiled Caroline. "In between my studies at Purdue, I tracked down every last one of Brittany's friends and shaved them all bald. I did it slowly and before a mirror, so they can watch me steal their beauty from them. And whenever they closed their eyes or looked away, well—that's where I really had fun."

"Wow," breathed Luigi. "You have this down to a science. But—why tell me?"

Caroline shrugged. "Why not? You're the only one who understands why I did it."

Luigi clasped her hand in his. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone."

"Thanks," blushed Caroline.

"There's a chance they'll tell on you, though," warned Luigi.

"I told them what would happen if they did," smiled Caroline, "and when I was done—I gouged their eyes out."

Luigi smiled back. "I like you, Caroline. I like you a lot."

They returned to the circle and sat at their seats, exchanging an askance, knowing look before Dr. Thorpe walked in and greeted everyone.

 _Should I tell her?_

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

In Sarasaland, Phillip Stanley was still in his bed, dozing, dreaming about relaxing on some beach with a gaggle of bikini-clad ladies—tending—to him. A dream that would never come to pass, because at that moment, the Sarasaland PD had just arrived at the hotel.

He was startled awake when they broke down his door. Bolting upright, he found himself staring down an army of uniformed officers. "Oh, [ _bleep_ ]!"

"Phillip Stanley, we have a warrant for your arrest," said the lead officer.

"On what charges?" Stanley indignantly demanded.

"Embezzlement, impersonating a federal agent and obstruction of justice, for starters."

"That's ridiculous! Somebody set me up!" cried Stanley.

"Save it for the trial," scoffed another officer as the disgraced former agent was hauled out of bed and cuffed.

The lead officer read Stanley his rights as they marched him out of the building and into a police van, where a few other co-conspirators sat in cuffs.

"Enjoy the ride," said the officers before shutting the door after Stanley.

Sirens wailed as two police cars escorted the van to the station.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Once the van arrived at the precinct, the crooks were marched inside, processed and fingerprinted. But while everyone else went to a holding cell, Howard was turned over to the Sarasaland Royal Guard, who took him straight to Daisy's castle.

They entered through a side door and gave him a bath set. "Thirty minutes to make yourself presentable," they said before leaving him.

Stanley showered quickly, washed his face and shaved before dressing in a brand new tuxedo. Half an hour later, the guards came for him and led him to Daisy's court.

Daisy herself had also freshened up for the arrival. Her face was dolled up, and she wore a one-shoulder mini-dress. Her fingernails and toenails were painted a vibrant turquoise, her auburn hair was in a sophisticated updo, and she'd applied a few spritzes of perfume. Now, she stood there, a stony look in her eyes, as her guards approached with Stanley.

"Thank you," she told her guards when Stanley was before her. "You may leave us."

The guards obliged, and Daisy turned to face her "guest". "Phillip Stanley, I presume?"

Stanley bowed ironically to her. "Princess," he responded.

"Do you know why I had you brought here?" asked Daisy.

"Because you expect me to grovel and beg for mercy?"

Daisy smiled. "No, Mr. Stanley, I expect you to dine."

She led him to a table, where her attendants set out a magnificent feast.

"Please, sit," she invited.

Stanley sat across from Daisy at the table, and the two helped themselves to the banquet before them.

Noticing the dainty way the ex-agent was eating, Daisy blushed. "There's no sense in trying to impress anyone," she said. "You must be hungry."

Stanley looked at her—and began scarfing down his food. He, in fact, was starving, and the food was delicious.

The Flower Princess poured wine for the two of them. "Try our wine," she said, giving one of the large wine glasses to Stanley.

Stanley narrowed his eyes. "It's poisoned," he said warily.

Daisy chuckled. "It would be pointless to kill you, Mr. Stanley."

"Then to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"I am acting as an agent in a business transaction with our mutual friend, Luigi Mario," explained Daisy.

"More acquaintance than friend," shrugged Stanley. "What does he have that I want?"

Daisy raised her wine glass. "Mercy," she simply replied, taking a sip.

"Really? Very kind of him, seeing that I already face jail time," said Stanley.

"By your efforts, Howard and his friends were set free," Daisy told him. "They have already been taken care of, but now I would like you to name all of their accomplices, their locations and their current activities."

"Name names—under political duress?" scoffed Stanley.

"Bargain," corrected Daisy, "to our mutual benefit and fair value."

She removed a piece of paper from her clasp and slid it over to him. Stanley opened it to find a commission for a member of the Royal Guard.

"My love and I offer what equates a full pardon," said Daisy. "You will be free, a guardsman in my employ. You'll get free food, a place to stay, a flat-screen TV, access to the pool and sports areas, a Nintendo Switch, a laptop and a tablet, and most of all, you will come to no harm."

"Somehow I doubt employment in your castle is the same as being free."

"Bullies are a dying breed, Mr. Stanley," said Daisy. "The world is shrinking, the various kingdoms and cities in the Nintendo verse connected via cell phones and the Internet. Grant's other tormentors must find a place in this new world, or perish. Not unlike you, my friend. You face life imprisonment for the crimes you committed, and you'd better pray you're sentenced before my love finds you."

"I suppose that you'll also want me to apologize for what happened to Grant," said Stanley.

"The terms of this arrangement require nothing from you but information," purred Daisy.

"Information," repeated Stanley. "Now—that would be a problem. You see, the entity to whom I answer has me on a very tight leash. And I've entered into a blood contract with him, so to speak—the only way out of it is for my heart to stop beating. I risk physical harm, even death, if I betray him."

"Do you, now?" Daisy arched an eyebrow.

"He has my family."

"Which is greater incentive for you to confess. I promise that I will do everything I can to help rescue them."

"Don't bother—that's already been taken care of." Stanley gulped down some more wine. "We have a deal—no loose ends. So—out of great concern for my safety—I must respectfully decline your offer."

"Mr. Stanley—what have I done to you to deserve this disrespectful treatment? What has my love done to you? I invite you into my castle, I feed you—we both offer you forgiveness and friendship for the simple price of honesty—and you spit in our faces."

"Look, I want to confess, but I can't. Agreeing to work with this man is a mistake I can't reverse."

"We can protect you."

"I'll take my chances, thank you. I'm no rat, and I'm certainly not bait."

"We're not asking you to be bait."

"I'm sorry, Princess. I know you mean well, but my hands are tied." Stanley moved to rise from his chair. "Thank you for the meal, though. Please sent my compliments to the chef."

Daisy gazed at Stanley, the picture of outward calm. She carefully wiped her fork on her cloth napkin. Suddenly, she lunged forward like a cat and drove the fork into Stanley's hand, violently twisting it.

Stanley screamed.

"I knew you'd say 'no'," said Daisy, still in a calm, dulcet voice.

Then, Stanley felt something embed itself into the back of his neck. His head fell forward and landed in his dish with a _splat_.

He was out within seconds.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

When Stanley first began to awaken, the first thing he noticed was the sting in the back of his neck. The second thing he noticed was his inability to touch it, as his hands and feet were bound. The third thing he noticed was that he was laying on his belly on some sort of board suspended over a bathtub. The fourth thing he noticed was that he was naked, his loins dangling from a circular opening on the board. And the last thing he noticed was that a watering hose was inside the tub.

There was a slight gurgle as the hose came to life, filling the tub with dirty water. The water level rose until it was about inches from Stanley's nose. That murky, brown substance shouldn't be called water. It looked horrible and smelled worse. Stanley heaved and gagged.

He started at the sound of footsteps. "Daisy?" he asked blearily.

"Unfortunately not," responded a distinctively male, accented voice.

Slowly, Stanley looked up at the speaker and wished he was anywhere but here.

Luigi stood in the room, clad in a pair of overalls and no shirt, staring eagerly at his new prey. His hands were clasped behind his back, as if hiding something. A calm look was on his face as he approached Stanley, and the former agent already knew that this was bad news for him!

"How's it going, Stanley?" Luigi casually asked.

Then, he revealed the thing behind his back, an aluminum bat with thorns wrapped around it, and started swinging it at Stanley, screaming in anger. Stanley grunted each time the weapon made contact with his body, the thorns embedding themselves into his skin and tearing along the flesh. Luigi attacked the sides first before laying into the back, arms and legs and finally the face and shoulders and part of the chest. Once he was finished with that, he grabbed a bottle of vinegar and rubbed it deep into the wounds before stepping back and observing the man in absolute agony.

"Misery, misery, misery—that's what you've chosen," said Luigi. "I offer to save you, and you spit in my face."

He shifted his hold on the bat and slammed it full-force into Stanley's package, and just as he drew in a breath for a scream, Luigi hit him there over and over. By the time he was done, Stanley was a weeping, sniffling heap.

"Please…" he croaked out.

"'Please' what?" snapped Luigi.

"Please—stop…"

"Stop? Like the way Grant asked your friends to stop?" hissed Luigi, grabbing the back of Stanley's head and shoving his face underwater.

Stanley thrashed and gurgled as he tried to shake his head free of Luigi's grip. Globs of mud got in his face and on his nose, and it was dark. Just as he felt an ache rise in his chest, Luigi pulled his head back out.

"They just ( **dunk** ) didn't ( **dunk** ) stop ( **dunk** )!"

Stanley was spluttering and gagging, coughing up dirty water and muck.

"You know, this isn't the first time this happened to me," said Luigi, forcefully dunking Stanley after every sentence. "Last year, it was discovered that a police chief was on the payroll of one of my tormentors. He was caught trying to break two vandals out of lockup. But you—you take the cake. Using your credentials to lie and get these monsters immunity—the freedom to do what they wanted without punishment—you're even lower than that chief! And you even pretended that you were still with the FBI, and furthermore, you were one of Grant's bullies. Wow—you really didn't like him, did you?"

Weakly, Stanley shook his head "no".

Luigi dunked him one last time and then punched him in the face until he felt Stanley's jaw splinter.

"I know Crazy Hand paid you to set this in motion," he said in a low, controlled voice. "Where is he?"

"I don't know," moaned Stanley.

Luigi hurled the leftover vinegar into his face. "I said—where is he?"

"I told you, I don't know! What am I, his keeper?"

Luigi seized his head with both hands and shoved his face to the bottom of the tub, smushing it against the mud collected there. Then, he yanked him back up, scooped up a handful of mud from the bottom and forced it into Stanley's mouth.

"You thirsty?" he asked. "Take a big drink!"

"I swear, I don't know where he is! He never told me where he was going!"

Luigi shoveled more mud into Stanley's mouth before releasing him and stepping out of his line of vision, returning seconds later wearing a pair of safety gloves and carrying a bucket of white, powdery solution, clearly identified on the front of the bucket as _lye_.

"Oh, God," said Stanley. "No. No—no—no—no—no—no! Please, no! I'll do anything!"

"Too late," shrugged Luigi. "A lifetime too late."

He dumped some of the lye into the water, where it dissolved with an ominous fizz, and then grabbed Stanley's head and shoved it back under. The corrupt former agent felt the skin burning and shredding from his face, as if millions of flesh-eating bugs were eating off it.

Luigi pulled Stanley back up and smiled as pink globs of flesh oozed from the latter's face and plopped into the lye-saturated water. Then, he dunked him back in. Over and over. Stanley's face bubbled and melted away, leaving nothing but a misshapen lump with eyes, ears, a nose and a mouth. After one final dunk, Luigi forced Stanley to look at him.

"Death is too kind for you," he said, "so, here's the deal. I'm keeping you alive for two reasons. The first reason is for information."

"Go [ _bleep_ ] yourself! I'll tell you nothing!" gurgled Stanley.

Luigi filled a large bucket with fresh water and mixed some more lye in it. "But I _am_ gonna ask you questions. And each time you refuse to answer, I burn something. I will make it so that everyone you bump into will cringe at your hideousness." He plopped a washcloth into the mixture and swirled it around to get it nice and saturated before lifting it up and holding it over Stanley's back. "I want to know everything about Crazy Hand and his remaining accomplices. What they've been doing. Where they're hiding. Who they are. Who else they've targeted. And how much they've been paid."

He pressed the washcloth onto Stanley's back and began rubbing in the dissolved lye with slow circles. Stanley thrashed, but it did no good. Horrid burns and sores appeared on his back, skin plopping off in globules.

"Well?"

"I swear—I know nothing!"

"That's what they all say," Luigi said softly, dipping the cloth back into the bucket and vigorously rubbing it down all four of Stanley's limbs. Dissolved skin began puddling on the floor around the tub.

"But most importantly—who helped Crazy Hand escape?"

He removed the boards supporting Stanley's chest and torso and dunked the upper body into the lye-filled tub. Stanley flopped about furiously as foam, flesh and fat materialized on the water's surface. By now, his body was covered in horrible blisters and lesions. As far as Luigi was concerned, that was for the best.

The plumber drained the tub, removed the hose, and replaced it with a new one, which presently filled the tub with considerably cleaner water. However, Stanley was given no time to appreciate it, as Luigi began scooping in lye even before the tub was finished filling. Then, he pushed both his face and upper body in, one hand holding it in place while the other once again saturated the cloth and closed it around Stanley's package.

Now, there was a forest fire raging in between Stanley's legs.

Luigi rubbed the washcloth all over the package again and again before removing another board and dipping the whole thing in. Then, he yanked Stanley's head back up and replaced the boards across his upper chest so that only his lower body was beneath the waterline.

"Oh, God! Oh, God! Please, take it out! Please!"

"Then answer my questions, or you'll have nothing left to impress a woman with."

"I'm telling you, he never told me anything!"

Luigi rubbed the lye powder directly into the un-submerged portions of Stanley's body. Then, he delicately lifted the long-suffering loins before rubbing the granules around them, as well. He gave them a good squeeze and a good few twists until Stanley blubbered, "All right! All right!"

"I'm listening," said Luigi, whipping off the safety gloves.

"It was all his idea! He wanted revenge on you for banishing him to the Minus World! Somehow, Howard and his friends found out about him and helped him escape. Then, they teamed up, knowing that they could get to you through Grant! I decided to get in on it after the arrest, getting them immunity under false pretenses. But I swear to you, I didn't know about what they had planned on the night of the gala!"

"And was anyone else involved in this?"

"No—just us, scout's honor!"

Luigi slid on a dry pair of safety gloves and dipped one fist into the lye powder.

"Somehow," he murmured, "I don't believe you." He jammed the lye-covered fist in and began pounding it into him with all his might.

Tearing and prickling pain surged through Stanley both from without and from within.

"I told you everything!" whined Stanley. "Please—just let me go!"

"I'm afraid that's not an option," said Luigi as he continued to drive his fist inside him. "As I've mentioned before, I'm allowing you to keep your wicked life for two reasons. And the second and by far most pivotal reason is—I want you to go to your accomplices and tell them everything that happened to you today. I want them to witness the extent of my mercy by witnessing your disfigured body. I want them to know what I know. I want them to know that I want them to know. And—I want them to know that they all face the same fate."

He yanked out the fist and picked up the bat wrapped with thorns.

Stanley began reciting a Hail Mary, but Luigi just hefted the bat in his hands and positioned it before he—

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Daisy sat in her living room, seemingly oblivious of the events taking place, listening to 90s hits on her iPhone, eyes closed. She moved only to refill her glass of wine or make herself more comfortable. Of course, Stanley would turn down her generous proposal. She counted on him doing so. Because doing so would allow Luigi to punish him accordingly before sending him off to jail, where hopefully the inmates would punish him further. But they probably wouldn't want him after Luigi was through with him—

Heck, the people who snubbed her deserved worse than they got. She'd wanted to personally hunt them down and lock them in a torture chamber, but she couldn't. She couldn't bear to let her people see her like that. What Luigi did to that turncoat financier slightly rattled her, but she got over it. So what if it was wrong? It sure beat out the thought of them watching cable TV on the government's dime or enjoying free gym memberships. If bullies got a taste of their own medicine, perhaps they wouldn't be so quick to do what they did.

Daisy removed her earbuds, picked up her wine glass, rose from her seat and glided toward the next room, where she could hear Stanley's screams. She stood in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb, and watched the action unfold. Stanley lay naked on a series of boards over a bathtub, wrists and ankles tied, screaming like a stuck pig. Luigi stood behind him, plunging what appeared to be a baseball bat in and out. The ex-agent was covered in burns, the flesh practically melted from his body, and blood was pouring from his cavity, which only made Luigi thrust the bat harder. Her gaze played over the bound man, savoring everything.

When her eyes met his, she saw the pleading and entreating in them. That he was sorry, that he took everything back, that he was willing to betray his co-conspirators to her. That he'd tell her everything she wanted to know, everything she wanted to hear. That he'd gladly trade this life and become one of her servants. That he'd kiss the ground she walked on. He'd do anything for her from now on, if she just got Luigi to stop.

The Flower Princess returned the look with a cold, unforgiving one, drained her wine glass in one gulp and walked away from him, leaving him at the mercy of her mustachioed man in green.

There was little of it to be found for him.

 **Please read and review.**


	38. A Dark Knight Rises

**A Dark Knight Rises**

"The police and the FBI swear to uphold the law," Luigi said to Dr. Park. "They're given the power to do so—but some of them use that power as a shield. And twice, the very people who were supposed to protect me hurt me instead."

"Are you talking about the FBI agent?" asked Dr. Park.

"The former FBI agent. Phillip Stanley. He pretended he was still with them to basically harbor fugitives. The asset to the federal government stuff was a lie."

"You hold him responsible for what happened to Grant," reasoned Dr. Park.

Luigi nodded. "I hold them all responsible. If they'd just left him in peace…"

"The human nature can be—cruel sometimes," conceded Dr. Park.

"Why didn't I suspect anything, though?"

"There was no way you could've."

"I found it odd that they decided to keep the immunity after those dogs attacked Grant and drove him to—do what he did," admitted Luigi. "I just…"

"I know," said Dr. Park. "I know. How are you holding up?"

"Okay, I guess. I'm keeping in touch with his family. And," he smiled briefly, "Leni has a bun in her oven."

"The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away," murmured Dr. Park.

"Exactly. Now they have something to look forward to—and so do I."

"But it doesn't make the anger go away, does it?"

"No," sighed Luigi. "I—I've had urges, Doc. To go out there and personally hunt them down for taking Grant from me."

"Would Grant have wanted it?"

"I'm not sure," Luigi said after a while, unwilling to divulge how the two of them had prowled the streets in the early days of their friendship.

"You know it won't bring him back, right?"

"Right—but the urge is so strong. Sure, the police can charge them with something, but what'll that give them? Sitting around in a jail cell, watching TV, eating free food? Sure, the other inmates can make things a little difficult, but…"

"If we were allowed to do the things you've fantasized doing, then there would be anarchy. Laws and the police exist for a reason, L."

"How can I trust them if they're so easy to corrupt?"

"From what I heard, the Bureau went down hard on those they collared in the corruption probe." Dr. Park smiled. "Hang in there. Wait long enough, and they eventually will get what they deserve."

 _Oh, yes, they will_ , thought Luigi.

"Keep attending your support group, and remember to breathe," said Dr. Park. "I also suggest that you start writing in a journal."

"A journal. I like the sound of that." Luigi rose from his chair. "I'll see you next week."

"Yeah. See you."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Dr. Mario was waiting for Luigi when he left Dr. Park's office. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," replied Luigi.

"Can we talk for a moment—informally?"

"Sure."

A few minutes later, the two men were seated in the cafeteria, sharing a large pepperoni pizza.

"L—I can never forget what you did for me sixteen years ago," said Dr. Mario.

"I went through the same thing in '99—I couldn't just sit around and let them treat you like that," said Luigi.

"One of the reasons why I agreed to take on your case is because I want to help you the way you helped me. Believe me, we have more in common than you think."

"Like what?"

Dr. Mario sighed. "Well, maybe it's time I tell you what you probably knew all along. During the crap I was subjected to, I had—fantasies."

Luigi leaned forward. "Like—the fantasies I've had?"

"Mine were—slightly toned down compared to yours. Whenever someone threw something at me, or said I was a lousy clone, I wanted to just grab them, strap them onto a table and cut them up with my surgical tools—while they were conscious. If they needed an operation, I felt the urge to just—botch it. Or let their infections fester away. Because even after I did my duty, patched them up after a match and treated them when they were sick, they still did and said those things to me, those ungrateful scumbags."

"So—why didn't you?"

"It was against my vows to do so. That's the first thing stated in the Hippocratic Oath—to do no harm."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to know that you're not alone, and there are ways to combat those fantasies. First off, ignore them. They'll get bored and move on. And like Kristy said—write in a journal. It helped in my case. I still have it if you want to read it."

"I—I can't read your private stuff," said Luigi.

"Sure, you can. I'm technically a counterpart of your brother, right? And brothers tend to share secrets."

"Wow. Thanks," said Luigi.

"I'll have it waiting for you in your room, shall I?"

"Okay."

"Things are going to get better," Dr. Mario assured him. "It doesn't look that way now—but they will."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 _ **At the next support group meeting…**_

Giulia's face bore no emotion as Luigi sat down next to her. "Hello, L," she said crisply.

"Hey," he smiled. "I brought you something I think you'll like."

"And what's that?"

Luigi slid a box of black-and-white cookies into the officer's lap. "A little birdie told me that these are your favorite cookies."

Giulia cracked a small smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Well—the last time we talked, it ended kinda—badly," said Luigi. "I didn't know what I was thinking, and I knew you just wanted to look out from me and keep me from falling off the deep end, but I'm not a child. I don't need people looking out for me. Maybe it was the anger talking. That's one of the seven stages of grief, after all."

"Hm," said Giulia. "It's funny you should say that, because not too long ago, four men washed up on a beach, barely alive."

"Wow. That's interesting."

"They turned out to be Howard's friends. And as for Howard himself, he's gone missing, and we don't think he'll be found alive. Oh, and Gil Huph, Grant's former boss? He's languishing in a hospital as we speak? The cherry on top? Still no word on the whereabouts of ex-Agent Phillip Stanley."

"I heard about him," Luigi said nonchalantly. "It's a shame that he abused his power like that. That's why I'm so reluctant to trust law enforcement. But why share all of this with me?"

"Because," Giulia said wryly. "It appears that these men are linked to Grant's attack and subsequent suicide. Mr. Huph was bribed into firing Grant. The four washed-up guys participated in the attack. Stanley secured their immunity under false pretenses. Perhaps—someone close to Grant had it in for them."

"Or maybe someone higher-up was involved in this mess and attacked them to remind them who was calling the shots," shrugged Luigi. "Trust me, a lot of conspiracies work like that."

"And who do you think is calling the shots?"

Luigi dropped his voice. "Crazy Hand. I think Howard and his friends helped him escape, and in exchange, he got them to work for him. Ask my friend, Val. He's done a lot of digging on the side." He winked.

"Okay. I'll look into that," said Giulia. "Thanks for the cookies."

Dr. Thorpe then walked into the room, followed by Donald. Gasps arose at the latter's appearance.

"Donald!" exclaimed Verne. "What happened?"

Donald's face and limbs were black, blue and bloody, and judging by their limp, their polo shirt and jeans concealed more horrific injuries. Tears seeped from their swollen eyes as they began to tell their story.

"I was on my way to have my surgery when a group of people came out of nowhere. They dragged me into an alley and held me down. Each of them took their old sweet time doing—things—to me. They beat me, kicked me, stomped on me—and that's the milder stuff." They lifted their polo shirt to reveal the battered body beneath. "I ended up rescheduling the surgery. Maybe I shouldn't do it at all."

"Don't say that," said Caroline. "These attacks shouldn't stop you from being yourself."

"Did you file charges?" asked Giulia.

"I did, but they were dismissed," sighed Donald. "According to the defense, I was a masochist who propositioned them. Idiots!"

"Indeed," grumbled Eric.

"They—actually believed those maniacs?" balked another attendee named Simon.

Donald nodded. "I was basically laughed out of the courthouse."

"Donald—they want you to retreat," said Dr. Thorpe. "They want you to feel ashamed about yourself and of the fact that you feel like a man in a woman's body. But you can't let them win. You should go through with the surgery."

"Yeah," Luigi chimed in. "Look at the LGBT figures in our history who overcame such hate to get where they are now. Look at me. Look at us. We're still standing. And we're gonna support you."

"Yeah," chorused everyone else.

Donald smiled. "Thank you. I think I know what I have to do now."

"Dr. Thorpe," said Luigi, "do you think we should start jotting down our thoughts into journals?"

"If you think it'll expedite the healing process," replied Dr. Thorpe.

The group session continued without incident. When it was time to leave, Luigi sidled over to Donald. "Hey."

Donald turned. "Yeah?"

"You knew your attackers, didn't you?"

"Some of them," nodded Donald.

"Wanna go for a drive with me?"

"That would be nice."

An hour later, Luigi's car cruised down the freeway, Donald savoring the peace and quiet until the plumber turned to them.

"What do you need from me?" asked Donald, a knowing gleam in their eye.

"Just tell me everything you remember," said Luigi.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 _ **That night…**_

The man downed his seventh shot of tequila and surveyed the nightlife around him. His eyes focused on one particular patron, tall and thin, wearing a bright green shirt and blue coveralls, a green hat with an "L" on it on his head. He was sitting there innocently, nursing a Poppin' Purple Tanqueray. His blue eyes were not yet dulled by alcohol and exuded kindness, accentuated by a wide, friendly smile. Laid-back, trusting, naïve. The perfect victim, the observing man thought.

He watched as the man in green rose from his spot, drink still in hand, as the dance music began to boom through the club. There was noticeable confidence in his gait as he stepped toward the crowd on the dance floor. The other man's eyes tracked his every move, a dark smirk playing on his lips. Stealthily, he began to head toward him.

And then the green-clad one began to dance, a sensual, shimmying and grinding movement which won approval from the crowd. The patrons formed a circle around him, raising their drinks and whooping in encouragement. The dancer's eyes were closed, an exhilarated expression on his narrow, angular face, his dance steps growing increasingly energetic. His body spun, rocked, dipped, swayed and undulated while the music built; it was as if he was gathering energy and tension. The man paused in his approached and watched with a wolfish grin. He couldn't wait to sink his teeth into this one.

When the beat dropped, the dancer released his pent-up energy, to the crowd's delight. They'd never seen such a dancer in their lifetimes. The way he twirled and whirled, the backflips he sometimes sprinkled in, the rad breakdancing moves, and especially the way his hips rolled, ground and gyrated. Sweat shone on his face, and his eyes flashed open, reveling in the energy he sensed from his fellow patrons. Everybody seemed to love it when he danced, whether in a club or in the Smash Lounge, when he took that floor, all eyes were on him as he let everything go, his primary way of de-stressing. Even during the mission he was on now.

After breaking down his body through a litany of songs, Luigi noticed the man approaching him in the crowd. He finished his drink, ordered one more for the road and slipped outside.

The man followed him.

Briskly, Luigi headed toward a bus stop, taking occasional sips of his drink, occasionally glancing at his peripherals. The man was still there, still keeping up pace. Whenever the man in green walked faster, so did the man. His suspicions confirmed, Luigi took out his cell phone and dialed three numbers.

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?" asked the dispatch.

In a low, calm, voice, Luigi stated his name and location. "I think someone's following me," he explained.

"Assistance is on the way."

"Thank you," Luigi said before ending the call and throwing an elbow strike, smashing into the nose of the approaching man.

The man fell backward with a grunt of pain, and then Luigi delivered a swift, brutal kick to the ribcage before straddling him and punching him over and over and over, and then forcibly prying his jaws open until he heard them separate.

Breathing heavily, Luigi climbed off of the man and picked up a two-by-four with nails sticking from one end.

"You picked the wrong person to attack tonight, Mr. Durden," he spat before swinging the two-by-four.

The board connected with Durden's body with such force that ribs cracked, and as the man's eyes teared up in agony, Luigi raised the board and brought it down over and over using the side with the nails, ripping through Durden's clothes and leaving tears and gashes on his skin. He hammered away at his trunk and groin before dragging him out of sight and continuing his assault until Durden was nearly a pulpy mess.

Luigi knew he had to end this quickly. Yanking off Durden's bottoms, he rammed the board into his cavern, made several hard, quick thrusts with it and then lodged it inside as deep as it would go.

"I'm only going to say this once," he spat when he was finished. "Stay away from my friend Donald."

And he darted off into the night as the police sirens wailed.

 **Please R &R.**


	39. A Close Call

**A Close Call**

 **Chapter contains smut!**

"Wow," said Giulia, staring at the unconscious man being wheeled away on a stretcher. "He was found like that?"

"A 9-1-1 call said he was following someone," said another officer.

"Luigi," realized Giulia. "When I heard the call, I recognized the voice."

"Well, here's the attacker," said the other officer. "Where's the victim?"

"My guess is that he gave a little disproportionate retribution and didn't want to answer for it," grumbled Giulia. "I can't believe this. First, he brings me gifts, and now…"

"We bagged the two by four. Have it tested for prints."

"With pleasure," smiled Giulia. "Hopefully, a night in lockup will make him think before yelling at law enforcement officers."

"Easy now," cautioned the other officer. "We don't want this looking like a grudge match."

"It's not personal," said Giulia. "It's just me upholding the law."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

It didn't take long for Giulia to finish her duties at the crime scene and then head over to the Smash Mansion. She paused at Master Hand's office and knocked on the door.

"Enter!"

Giulia strode in, all business. "MH, I need to have a word with one of your Smashers," she said in a clipped voice. "Now."

At once, MH understood. "I'll take you to him."

The Hand of Creation floated over to Luigi's room and knocked. "L," he warned. "You have a visitor."

"Can it wait?" mumbled Luigi's voice.

"As a matter of fact, no," said Giulia. "There's always the option of chatting at _my_ place."

Muttering in Italian. The door opened, and Luigi stepped out. "Good evening, Giulia," he said sweetly. "What brings you to the Smash Mansion?"

"I heard you were attacked earlier tonight, and I wanted to check up on you," said Giulia.

"I'm a little shook up, but I'm untouched," Luigi assured her. "Thank you, though. Please, tell me you have my attacker in custody. I can't sleep at night thinking that he's still prowling the streets to set upon another poor unfortunate soul."

"He _is_ in custody, if you can call it that. That's what I want to talk to you about." Giulia stepped into the room and dismissed Master Hand with a nod. "Mind if I sit?"

"Not at all."

The two sat on the edge of Luigi's bed.

"Why didn't you get checked out at the hospital?"

"Like I said, I'm fine. He didn't do anything to me—I made sure of that."

"Then can you at least give me your statement?"

Luigi took a deep breath. "I was walking home from the club, turned around and saw someone following me. After a few blocks, he wouldn't leave me alone, so I decided to call 9-1-1. He was on me just as I hung up. Fortunately, I managed to subdue him and escape."

"You really worked him over," said Giulia.

"I did what I had to in order to survive," said Luigi. "What if he had a weapon?"

"He was beaten all over his body, and his jaw was broken. And the weapon used to beat him was—inside him."

Luigi shrugged. "Must've happened after I escaped. Someone must've witnessed the attack and ensured that he wouldn't pull something like that again."

"Once the prints on the two-by-four come back, we'll know the whole story," purred Giulia. She rose and headed for the door. "We may need you to come back tomorrow morning for further questioning. Take care of yourself, all right?"

"All right. Good night, Giulia."

"Good night."

Giulia walked out of Luigi's room to find MH waiting for her.

"I'll see myself out," she said.

"He was attacked?" gasped MH.

"Luckily, he was unscathed. These Smasher sure can take care of themselves."

"Yeah," said Master Hand. "Keep on serving and protecting, Giulia."

Giulia nodded and made her way down the corridor toward the exit.

On her way there, she passed Bayo's room, the door cracked opened. Bayo's eyes tracked Giulia striding by. The sway of her hips, the skinny jeans and belt, the sleeveless top, her hair brushing her shoulders. She was so beautiful—

The policewoman waited till Master Hand had gone before scurrying back to the Umbra Witch's room.

Bayo swiftly pulled Giulia inside, closed the door, and gave her a fiery kiss on the lips, her hands sliding under her top and roaming over the soft, warm skin.

"Do you think he knows?" asked Bayo after she broke the kiss.

"I don't think so," said Giulia, "but my captain figured it out. She saw my necklace. She's okay with it. You—don't think MH will approve?"

"He will, but…"

"You don't think he should know yet," finished Giulia. "You know that he'll eventually find out."

"Let's just—take this slowly, all right?"

"All right."

"You—got a minute?"

"I think so. Yeah."

They kissed again, and then Bayo gasped as Giulia spun her around and pinned her, devouring her mouth and tongue and fondling her. After a few minutes of grinding against each other and making out, Giulia stepped back and removed her shirt, and then helped Bayo remove her outfit. Bayo steered the other woman to her bed, unbuckled her belt and unzipped her jeans, and then they collapsed onto the mattress, kissing and touching and spooning. Giulia calmed down first, kicked off her shoes, removed her socks and wriggled out of her jeans before unclasping Bayo's bra and easing off her panties. Her hands ghosted over her breasts before one of them slid into her mouth.

"Oh!" said Bayo, arching her back. Her companion released the nipple and flicked her tongue over the bud a few times.

Giulia's body settled over the Umbra Witch's. The latter reached over and slid the undergarments off the former. They lay together, surveying the other's nakedness before the policewoman went in for the kill. She had a lot of stuff to work out, and she knew that a night with Bayo would help her feel better. Her mouth first worshipped her breasts, then her stomach, then her large butterfly tattoo before proceeding to her waist and hips and finally the wet warmth between Bayo's thighs. She buried her head there and licked and lapped to her heart's content. She'd never forget Bayo's taste as long as she lived. Nor would she forget her essence or her sighs and cries or the pulsing around her.

The Umbra Witch tossed her head back and screamed as Giulia's mouth and tongue continued to do these things to her. She combed her fingers through her chocolate hair as her head bobbed. Licking, sucking and slurping sounds joined the pleasured screams and breathing. Bayo's toes curled, and her legs shook, but Giulia was relentless, repeatedly hitting those bundles of nerves and planting sopping kisses whenever she could.

Before Bayo's vision dissolved into stars, Giulia ceased her ministrations and got up. She padded over to her discarded jeans and pulled out her cuffs and the keys. The keys were slipped under Bayo's pillow, while the cuffs quickly secured Bayo to the bedpost. Giulia climbed back onto the bed and resumed her worship of Bayo's flower pot, working her tongue more frenetically than ever until the other woman spouted incoherent noises.

"Giulia…" Bayo managed after a while. Her body undulated on the soft bed, the handcuff jangling. The more she undulated and writhed, the more passionately Giulia ate her out, devoting most of her attention to the areas which pulsed the most.

"Mmm—Giulia," Bayo said again, and Giulia withdrew and looked into her eyes, licking her lips.

"Do you have…?" she asked.

"Bottom drawer," Bayo gasped fiercely.

Giulia was at the nightstand in one leap. She opened the bottom drawer to find an assortment of lotions and toys. Quivering, she grabbed a pink bottle and a toy similar to the one she'd experienced during her first night with Bayo.

Straddling the Umbra Witch, Giulia placed the toy beside her and opened the pink bottle. Inside was thick, bubble-gum scented lotion. Her breath quickened as the lotion spouted onto her chest, her breasts, her abdomen and her thighs. She closed the bottle, set it aside and rubbed the lotion in.

"Mmmmm…" said Bayo as the lotion stimulated the nerves on her body. Giulia's hands were soft and slow, her motions circular and deliberate. She drew a shuddering breath and drawled out her name. Fingers traced muscles and contours, the eyes above her visibly dilating.

"Yeah—that feels good," said Bayo. "So good—Giulia…"

"I haven't started yet," said Giulia, applying more lotion to her domes and cupping her hands around them, delicately stroking them like precious goblets and then winding her fingers from underside to bud. They quivered as she kissed between them. Then, she lay atop her, her hands dancing over the expanse of her lotion-covered body, kissing over and over and over as she massaged and spooned.

How long this lasted neither of them knew. But then, Giulia eased off of Bayo, back to a straddling position, took the lotion and began to squirt it onto herself. She held Bayo's gaze as she administered the same treatment to her own body, slowly so as to arouse her further. Then, she dipped one hand between her legs and gave a great gasp. Automatically, her hand started to pump up and down, briskly and hungrily, while her other hand continued to fondle herself. Her eyes savored the naked, lean Umbra Witch on the bed, her belly button jumping as she breathed in erratic bursts, her body wriggling as currents of adrenaline zipped through her. Bayo studied her lasciviously, pupils fully dilated, aching and dripping between her legs, listening to Giulia's quiet gasps and moans. She saw her neck as her head lolled back, saw the bouncing breasts and the weaving body and the pistoning arm. Both of their bodies were on a live wire. Their heavy breathing joined together. It was all sensation and throbbing and rippling until—

"We're ready," Giulia suddenly said, grabbing the toy and slathering it with lotion. Slowly, she inserted one end into Bayo and the other end into herself. "Same rules apply?"

Bayo nodded.

When Giulia slammed her mound onto Bayo's, both let out a simultaneous scream of bliss, their lotion-saturated bodies joining together, and then parting and joining again and again, faster and faster. Giulia's pace was fast yet controlled, releasing the last of the ugliness stemming from her quarrel with Luigi. This Umbra Witch was a person with whom Giulia could be herself, where the atrocities she saw day-to-day didn't matter anymore. As the toy pounded into her cavern, Giulia's hips beat in measured _thwips_ against Bayo's, breasts pillowing nicely against one another. The contact of their bodies sent firecrackers of pleasure sizzling down her, and sweat began to sparkle along her skin.

Bayo's waist bucked and swiveled and jerked, moving in that sure, confident pace, eyes closed against the building sensations. Giulia's voice above her, spouting blasphemes and profanities, the soft, bubble-gum scented body writhing against her. She could almost imagine the sight of her, trying not to lose control as she had during their first night together. She could sense the tension expelling from the other body with each thrust. Soft, wet lips peppered her with kisses as equally soft hands explored the rest of her.

They slammed into each other, faster and harder, until neither could take anymore, until their bodies began writhing and thrashing, sending droplets of sweat flying onto the bed. Giulia grabbed onto the pillow as uncontrollable shuddering wracked her, her eyes also squeezed shut as her muscles worked against Bayo's. Bayo's free hand fisted the bedsheets as her walls squeezed around the toy, determined to win this game once again.

Giulia's screams reached a crescendo as her body exploded, quaking, liquids squirting onto Bayo and the toy. Open-mouthed breaths stuttered from her lungs, her eyes popping open and staring hugely at the other woman. Both hands gripped the mattress while she released, grinding herself deep into Bayo. That was when Bayo's body unraveled, a sigh escaping her as her own liquids spurted onto Giulia. Quivering bodies were glued together, until muscles began to relax, and Giulia collapsed atop Bayo, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. Then, she pulled herself up, her breasts balanced atop Bayo's, retrieved the key, and released the Umbra Witch from the handcuffs. Seconds later, Bayo rolled them over, taking her place atop the policewoman, the two of them kissing and groping each other as Bayo began to thrust, deep, hard and exhilarated.

"I love you, Giulia!" gasped Bayo. "I love you so much!"

"I love you, too!" cried Giulia, molten warmth building within her core as pelvises mashed deeper.

The women pulled their bodies as close as they could go, their lovemaking progressing through the hours. They rotated their bodies from time to time so they could take turns being on top. They thrust fast, and then they thrust slowly. They sputtered and squirted and spasmed as they sent waves upon waves of pleasure crashing into each other. They memorized each other's bodies as they moved together, the tracks of sweat and the muscle tones and the belly buttons and their eyes and their mouths. Gasping, panting and screaming each other's names. Hands touching and massaging and spooning and groping endlessly, uncovering each other's sensitive spots and attacking them with abandon. Tongues fluttering over skin, tasting lotion and sweat and arousal. They thrust and ground and groped until they were completely wrung out, until they were bathed in fluids and sweat. Gently, they dismounted from the toy and lay there, touching tenderly and kissing, until they fell asleep in each other's arms.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

The next morning, Quinn walked into the station to be greeted by an ashen-faced uni.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"The two-by-four from last night's attack," said the uni.

"What about it?"

The uni swallowed. "It's—missing!"

Quinn was stunned into silence for a short beat.

"Show me the security cameras," she commanded.

The uni obeyed. All seemed normal on the monitors until they went black. When the blackness lifted, the board was—gone.

"Bring that plumber in," Quinn told the uni in a low, soft voice.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"Wow. Why would you think I'd do something like that?" Luigi asked innocently as Quinn interrogated him over the missing evidence.

"You claimed that this man attacked you, but that board indicated that you exceeded the boundaries of self-defense," said Quinn.

"All right. Maybe I got a little carried away," said Luigi, "but you've got to understand, I was freaked out. I was in fear of my life. My top priority that night was surviving. What if he came at me with that board, huh? I had to grab it before he did."

"I'm sorry, L, but something in your story just doesn't add up. Mainly the fact that there aren't any injuries on you except for the defensive wounds on your knuckles."

"Okay, fine. I'll wait for them to land the first blow, and then I'll fight back. Will that make you feel better?"

Quinn blinked. "I never said that."

"That's what I gathered from it," Luigi said nonchalantly. "I want my lawyer. Now."

"You're not under arrest," Quinn assured him.

"Well, I want him anyway."

The door opened, and Giulia stepped in, escorting a young man in a blue suit and spiky black hair.

Luigi beamed. "Great timing, Phoenix," he said.

Quinn nodded. "I appreciate you coming down here, Mr. Wright," she said. "What happened? Civil court didn't work out too well."

"It's not quite my cup of tea, Cap'n," said Phoenix. "Now, what's this about? Is my client charged with a crime?"

"There's something troubling about the statement he gave last night," explained Quinn.

"She says," muttered Luigi.

"Hey, don't get nasty with me," warned Quinn.

"I was nowhere near the lab last night. I was in my room in the Smash Mansion, recovering from my vicious attack, and several people can attest to that."

"Did you see my client do this?" asked Phoenix.

"No," said Quinn.

"Then why do you suspect it was him?"

"Because," said Quinn, replaying the security footage, "the two-by-four is there before the monitors are blacked out, and after they're blacked out, there's no two-by-four. Coincidence? I think not."

"I want the man who attacked me put away. Why would I tamper with the investigation?" challenged Luigi.

"That's an excellent question," added Phoenix. "Now, if my client is not under arrest, we'd like to leave now."

"Good day, Cap'n," Luigi said politely as he stood up and left with his ace attorney.

Quinn watched them go. "This isn't over, L. Not by a long shot," she vowed.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"Well, his alibi checks out," Giulia sighed to Quinn later that day. "Master Hand confirms that Luigi was in his quarters at the time the two-by-four was stolen."

"Okay, then. If Luigi didn't take it, then who did?" asked Quinn.

"It was me," said a voice.

The two women turned. Donald stood behind them, a look of grim resolve on their face.

"Hi, my name is Donald. The man who attacked my friend Luigi—also attacked me not too long ago."

"Then why tamper with evidence?" asked Giulia.

"Because after Luigi fended the man off—I came across him, laying there, face-down. Since I didn't know who he was, I tried to help him. But when I picked up his head, I recognized him. I just—lost it."

"So you're saying—what are you saying?" demanded Quinn.

"It was me who shoved that board in him," said Donald, "and after I regained my wits and realized what I'd done, I just—freaked. If I testify at my attacker's trial…"

"I'm sure Kovacs will offer you a good deal," Giulia assured them. "Donald, I'm sorry, but—I'm afraid I have to bring you in for assault and evidence tampering."

Donald jerked a nod. "Do it."

Giulia cuffed Donald, Mirandized them and escorted them to an interrogation room. After taking their statement, Giulia allowed them to make their two phone calls.

Luigi answered on the first ring. "Hey," he said.

"Hey."

"You don't have to do this," whispered Luigi.

"It's my choice. My choice alone," said Donald.

"Why? Why are you taking the fall for me?"

"Because you have a job to do—and you can't do that job very well if you're in prison, can you?" Donald smiled. "You've given me a reason to wake up in the morning. You've given me a reason to soldier through each day. When I see the sun, I smile. And for that, I truly thank you."

"Donald—this is your life you're throwing away." Tears spilled down Luigi's cheeks.

"I'm giving it up—to give you a second chance," explained Donald, also tearing up. "Do not waste it, Luigi. Do not waste your life." On those words, they hung up.

They took several deep breaths, pulling themselves together. Then, they called their lawyer.

Meanwhile, Luigi collapsed in silent sobs, wracked with guilt over a man giving up so much potential so that he could continue his mission.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

By the time night fell, the man in green had cried the last of his tears. Donald's self-sacrifice had fueled his anger toward their attackers. But now, he knew he had to be more careful. He couldn't make it too obvious. So, he'd lure these people into a false sense of security, and then pounce on them and take them to his Batcave. He didn't know why he called 9-1-1 on Durden in the first place. Impulse, probably. But he'd learned from his mistakes, and now he'll leave no loose ends.

This endeavor had extended way beyond avenging Grant. It was even beyond avenging Donald's attack. Now, it was about getting street justice for the other Grants out there, the other Donalds, the other Erics, the other Carolines and the other Cerenas—for those out there trying to smile through their tears, for those unable to enjoy life to the fullest, for those on the brink of ending it all looking for something or someone to cling to, for those who needed someone to assure them that everything would be all right. He'd been unable to save Grant—but at least he could try to save _them_. It was what Grant would've wanted.

Luigi stepped out into the night and breathed in the cool air, armed and ready with his tools of the trade. A dark smile slowly formed on his face as he imagined the bullies he'd make beg for mercy tonight. He gazed up as his late friend's voice boomed across the indigo sky.

" _Go get 'em, L. Go get 'em_."

"I will. I will," vowed Luigi.

The hunt had begun anew!

 **Review?**


	40. Interlude: Let the Monster Out

**Let the Monster Out**

 **Warning for strong violence**

 **"** _ **When fortune smiles on something as violent and ugly as revenge, it seems proof like no other that, not only does God exist, you're doing his will."**_

 **-** _ **Kill Bill, Vol. 1**_ **(2003)**

* * *

 ** _Luigi's POV_**

 **I think I understand why I'm drawn to this life.**

 **It's the rush of adrenaline, aggression, power. The feeling you get when you confront the person (or people) who antagonized you or your friends, when it's you who has the emotional upper hand. The look on their faces when they realize that they're about to reap what they've sown.**

 **That's why they do it, right? They pick and choose their prey based on the way they carry themselves. Anyone who betrays a hint of weakness is fair game.**

 **But the weak need the strong to stand up for them. That's where I come in.**

 **I was once seen as weak. There were times when facing a beatdown was a regular occurrence. I remember Blaine, David, Jim and Adam. I remember Raymond and the locker room. I remember Tyler and Ryan. I remember Teddy and Spencer. And most of all, I remember the Bennigan Brothers. They whaled on me until I found my inner strength and punished them all.**

 **They say to let the authority figures handle it. I hoped Master Hand would pay attention to my situation, but by the time he did, it was too late. The action law enforcement has taken are rudimentary at best. And in light of the recent FBI corruption probe, how can I trust them? How?**

 **Well, I'm sick and tired of waiting around for law enforcement to do something only to give the perps a whap on the wrist. I'm tired of sitting and watching some a-hole make a well-to-do citizen miserable for their flaws. Instead of getting on my tail, the police should be thanking me for helping rid these streets of odious bullies!**

 **Nightfall is when I truly come alive these days. I walk the streets with a quiet step, the cooling temperature refreshing on my skin. Neon lights of restaurants and clubs beckon to me like earthly constellations. My senses are sharper than a Beam Sword, hearing, seeing and smelling everything. A drop of sweat. A nervous tic. A smirk. A snicker. I can pinpoint everything.**

 **A small notepad rests in a pocket of my overalls, its pages slowly filling up with names. First are the names of those who wronged me. Then are the names of those who wronged Grant. Then those who wronged Donald. Then those who wronged everyone else in my support group. Even in a dense crowd, I can pick them out like rotten apples or spoiled food. Something inside me tingles when I see them, a clue that something is off. Maybe something I come across while snooping on social media. Something I remember my friends saying during our discussions. Something that sends a slight shiver down my spine. They can act innocent and ordinary, but they'll never hide from me.**

 **They never see me coming. One moment, they're gloating about the people they've hurt, and the next, they're at my mercy. Sometimes, I approach them and make small talk before incapacitating them and dragging them to my secret lair. When we're not in a public place, I quickly stun them. Then, I secure them to tables, to the ceiling or against a wall, either waiting for them to wake up or forcibly bringing them to their senses. They put on the same, cocky tough-guy act before realizing who I am. Then, they're not so tough anymore.**

 **I don't yell or scream at them—yet. My voice is calm and conversational as I explain to them why they're here. Their voices are high-pitched as they offer up lame excuses and get hyper-defensive. But I know they truth—and so do they.**

 **Their pitiful defenses make me so—angry. Who do they think they are, getting off on the suffering of others? One of the best self-made men I've ever known was driven to suicide, and another was tormented to the point that they'd rather waste away in prison for my sake. Eric and Caroline are doing what they can to hold on, Giulia is haunted over losing her sister, even Verne—he's starting to erode, slowly but surely. Their faces flash across my mindscape, and then I glare at the sickos who did this to them—to me—**

 **And then I let the monster out.**

 **There's so much rage in me, rage which manifests itself in every punch, kick, swing of a blunt object and every slice and stab. My green flames flicker and leave burns in places where you really don't want burns. I brand the letter "L" into areas where I know they'll be seen. Blood sprays out of mouths, drools from noses and seeps from the cuts I leave. I carve into them with almost surgical precision and then pour electrical currents into their raw bodies. I rub salt, vinegar, lemon or pickle juice or some highly caustic liquid into open wounds. I remove eyes, noses—sometimes lips and tongues. I deform them. I disfigure them. I make sure they'll never hurt another person, emotionally, psychologically or physically. But I never kill them. Killing them is too kind.**

 **Grant's voice over the phone, the last time I ever heard him. Donald's voice, choking with sobs. Giulia's voice, filled with longing to rewind the clock and bring Bella back. The voices of the family Grant left behind. The voices and faces swirl round and round in a maddening maelstrom, and all I can think is that the monsters I land in my clutches need to pay, need to suffer. So, I make them, as my music plays at max volume and I succumb to the howling, screaming need for release, for revenge. I swap out my usual outfit for a comfy pair of pants and no shirt, feeling the sweat ooze down my body and feverishness surge through my skin. My long-dormant emotions are injected into everyone in my trap. Yes, I'm breaking the law, but I don't care anymore. I'm on fire, and if the police get on my case about it, then I'll tell them to drop dead.**

 **During the brutal punishments I subject these bullies to, I allow myself to remember, to replay the events, past and present, which sent me back to this life. The beatings, the harsh words, the conspiracies. A nerf I didn't deserve. A snub my Princess didn't deserve. My shoelaces being tied together. Maxim tomatoes and other stuff flying at me from the stands. Bathroom pranks. Grant, slowly breaking down into a useless shell before pumping his lungs full of toxic gas. My buddies in the support group, barely keeping it together. Grant's poor parents, their graves desecrated, photos of their bodies leaked to social media. Drunken laughter, drunken voices calling me a n—b, the "last-place loser", the "bottom of the food chain". Laughter at my suffering and the suffering of others. And then people telling me they're sorry, but should I believe them? Should I? Who's to say they won't do such things again?**

 **While some toss it aside, for me it remains a permanent scar on my spirit. And so here we are, in a room lit only by moonlight, music and screams and pleas filling my ears, focusing on that crap and letting it build like a slow burn, until it finally—wins—finally bursts inside me, my fists going into overdrive as they destroy the guilty parties, along with other improvised weapons. Smashing, slashing, slicing, stabbing, cutting, carving, burning, electrocuting.**

 **Vengeance. Retribution. Wrath.**

 **My chest heaves, sobbing breaths pushing through my lungs. Tears mix with the sweat on my face. Screams roil at my vocal chords. I try to control my breathing, but my ire is too great. I am not a pretty sight when the monster is out.**

 **Days, weeks, months pass. I go about my business as a plumber, a hero, a ghost hunter and a Smasher. I write in a journal, work on some paintings, play the piano and remember to breathe. I dutifully go to my appointments with Dr. Mario and Dr. Park and the support group meetings. And my heart wrenches at the stories I hear.**

 **Giulia, reminders of Bella present in the perps she hunts down.**

 **Eric, bullied for having his nose stuck in a book.**

 **Caroline, bullied because of her braces and her weight.**

 **Verne, his computer skills laughed at instead of appreciated.**

 **Paulette, bullied over her skin disorder.**

 **Mikhail, bullied over his limited command of English.**

 **Sally and Cy, bullied over their dwarfism.**

 **Zoe, Colt, Bradley, Scott, Gary, Walt, Anna, Rosemary, Nikki, Tianna and Ariel, bullied over their sexual orientation.**

 **And Celine. Oh, Celine. For God's sake, she's deaf-mute, but they stomp on her, too!**

 **I hold in my anger until the sun goes down, and when night falls and I have those responsible in my clutches, I translate my anger into a world of indescribable agony. I'm breathing heavily, the stories I've heard coalescing into one undefinable mass. Inhaling, exhaling, remembering Celine's tear-streaked face or Mikhail struggling to communicate to us in his limited English—**

 **At this point, when my temper grows unbearable, I use a fist or a club or a pole or whatever object within reach in a manner inconsistent with the bullies' lower regions. My enraged screams tear loose as crash my selected object into their insides as forcefully as I can before tearing it out and then repeating, my arms cranking in and out and my sweat splashing onto the floor around me. All of my muscles seem to work overtime, my blood pounds in my ears and I can barely breathe. The air seems hot and stuffy and suffocating, but I keep going, not stopping until significant damage has been done, until colors explode before my eyes and the foul ugliness has been expelled from me. Physically and emotionally exhausted, I stumble off and collapse against a wall, catching my breath and pulling myself together.**

 **Nights upon nights of wandering the streets, ensnaring the bullies crossing my paths. Nights upon nights of avenging myself, Grant and my friends in my support group. Nights upon nights of doing what I should've done so many years ago. Nights upon nights of becoming every bully's worst nightmare. And most of the time, it works. Because after dealing with me, they usually never go after their targets again.**

 **When night falls, I let the monster out. And it feels d—n good.**

 **I'm not going down on my knees,**  
 **Begging you to adore me**  
 **Can't you see it's misery**  
 **And torture for me**  
 **When I'm misunderstood**  
 **Try as hard as you can, I've tried as hard as I could**  
 **To make you see**  
 **How important it is for me**

 **Here is a plea  
From my heart to you  
Nobody knows me  
As well as you do  
You know how hard it is for me  
To shake the disease  
That takes hold of my tongue  
In situations like these**

 **Understand me  
Some people have to be  
Permanently together  
Lovers devoted to  
Each other forever  
Now I've got things to do  
And I've said before that I know you have too  
When I'm not there  
In spirit I'll be there**

 **Here is a plea  
From my heart to you  
Nobody knows me  
As well as you do  
You know how hard it is for me  
To shake the disease  
That takes hold of my tongue  
In situations like these**

 **Understand me**

 **-Depeche Mode, "Shake the Disease"**

* * *

 **Reviews are appreciated.**


	41. Stilled Storm

**Stilled Storm**

 **Exactly what it says on the tin!**

 _ **Five months later…**_

Leni's pregnancy was starting to show. Her four kids began fawning over her, showering her with attention and kindness. Inside and out, she was glowing. Losing her husband still hurt, but with this precious life growing inside her, she had to keep going. In the evenings, she'd lay on her bed, soothing the emptiness on the other side by gently rubbing her belly and singing to her cargo. She was craving food such as spaghetti with Nutella and pickles. Her bladder would wake her up every few hours. And in the morning, she'd be royally sick. But when Shelia, Alex, Nora and Danny stopped by to say hi to their coming sibling, it didn't matter anymore.

Luigi continued to pay her visits, now helping her baby-proof the house—again. These past five months seemed to have treated him well. He talked to her about how seeing psychiatrists eased the pain and how group therapy significantly accelerated the healing process. Leni had been rattled upon receiving word that he'd been attacked, but the man in green assured her that he was dealing and dismissed the incident as random. Still, she suspected that there was something he was leaving out, though she couldn't fathom what.

Now, on this fine day, Luigi accompanied Leni to her sonogram, even offering to drive her to Dr. Mario's clinic. The four kids didn't fuss at all, even after a minor traffic jam. They were too busy whispering placing bets as to whether they were going to have a new sister or brother.

When they arrived, they took seats at the waiting room, reading magazines or watching the mounted TV. Leni gazed to her right and saw Mandy reclining in a chair of her own, her feet propped up, Evan relaxing beside her. Gosh, the woman was ready to pop!

"Hey," said Leni.

Mandy turned to her. "Hey, Leni!"

"Any advice? The morning sickness is getting on my nerves," groaned Leni.

"Uh—chicken soup?" shrugged Mandy, placing two hands on her swollen belly. "Yogurt? They certainly helped in my case."

"And the cravings?"

"I had the usual pickles and ice cream for a while. Now, it's bananas and olives on my pizza!"

Both pregnant women chuckled.

"These two…" Mandy patted her belly, "are so eager to come out. They've been fighting like it's no tomorrow!"

Leni arched an eyebrow. "Twins."

"A boy and a girl. You?"

"We're going to find out today," smiled Leni.

"Congratulations, Leni. You deserve a break from all this drama."

"Likewise."

The receptionist spoke up. "Leni? The doctor will see you now."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"How are you feeling, Leni?" asked Dr. Mario once his patient was situated.

"Ugh—do I have to answer?"

"Morning sickness? Cravings? Cramps?"

"And mood swings," said Leni. "The total package. But my four kids are more than happy to help."

"That's right!" Danny piped up.

Dr. Mario smiled as he applied the gel to Leni's tummy and began to guide the ultrasound wand over it. Six pairs of eager eyes glanced at the monitor.

And then, _there was the baby_ , relaxing without a care in Leni's womb, legs kicking out occasionally, sucking their thumb. Leni's lips trembled as she gazed upon her and Grant's final creation. She reached out a hand and gingerly placed it on the monitor. Then, she closed her eyes to drink in the _shushing_ sound of the fetal heartbeat.

"My," said Dr. Mario. "She's lovely."

Leni's eyes snapped open. "She…?"

Dr. Mario beamed. "Leni, I'm happy to report that you're going to have a beautiful, healthy daughter."

The news was met with a chorus of squeals from the four kids.

"I told ya!" laughed Shelia.

Leni tuned them out as she once again gazed at the ultrasound image of her baby girl. The moment quickly turned bittersweet, as she realized that Grant would never get to see his new daughter, hold her, play with her, wipe her tears, walk her to school, scold her for bad behavior, praise her for good behavior, chase boys away from her or walk her down the aisle. The pregnant widow lowered her head, sobbing in both sadness and joy.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

As they were about to leave the clinic, Evan raced up to them, excitement on his face. "Get the doctor!" he shouted. "The babies are coming!"

"I'm on it!" shouted Luigi, sprinting back toward Dr. Mario's office as Leni and Evan raced to Mandy's side. Peach and a few other nurses were already on the scene, holding her hand and coaxing her as Mandy moaned.

"I was getting up to go to the ladies' room when my water broke," explained Mandy.

"Listen to me—you're gonna be all right," Evan said soothingly. "Just do as they tell you, okay?"

Mandy grunted in pain as another contraction hit. She saw Luigi race back in, practically dragging Dr. Mario.

"Just the place to go into labor, huh?" joked Mandy, her laughter cut off by an especially lengthy contraction.

"Hang in there, Mandy—you're in good hands," said Dr. Mario. "We're gonna get you to a hospital room."

Wrapping her up in a blanket, everyone lifted Mandy and carried her to the first vacant room they saw, gently laying her on the bed. The nurses set about hooking her up as Dr. Mario called out for the necessary materials.

"Evan, I think we'll need to give her an epidural," the doctor told the father-to-be. "Does she have any conditions we should know about?"

"No. Is everything all right?"

"Yes. We just need to give her something to ease the pain. I'm sorry, but I have to ask you and L to step outside."

"You take care of her," said Evan, kissing Mandy on the forehead before he and Luigi returned to the waiting room.

Evan collapsed into a chair. "Oh, man. Oh, man," he groaned. "It's really happening."

Luigi rubbed his friend's back in slow circles.

"What if the worst should happen? What if one of them doesn't…?"

"Shh," Luigi broke in, clasping Evan's hands in his. "Just relax. Dr. Mario is the best doctor out there."

"What can I do?"

Luigi looked deeply into his eyes. "Pray."

So they did.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Dr. Mario stepped into the waiting room to find Evan forehead-to-forehead with Luigi, holding hands tightly. He allowed himself to smile at the touching scene of the plumber comforting his ex-roommate before telling them, "You can come in now."

The two men pulled apart, stood up and followed Dr. Mario into Mandy's room, still muttering prayers under their breath.

A high-pitched, wailing cry arrested their attention, the apprehension in their guts replaced with relief and joy. For there, in Mandy's arms, lay a naked, shrieking baby girl, covered in amniotic fluid, blood and vernix. As the nurses cleaned her up, Evan and Luigi could see that this baby had her mother's rich, red locks and her father's skin tone. Four tiny limbs flailed in the air, and then the nurses turned her over and laid her onto Mandy's bare chest, the cries subsiding into soft whining and cooing.

Mandy was wrung-out and exhausted, and her labor was by no means over, but she could care less. She smiled down at her daughter, slowly crawling toward her left breast, feeling her warmth and inhaling her scent. And as she latched herself on and began to nurse, the baby opened her eyes, Mandy falling headlong into her own gray orbs. "My God, Evan—she's adorable!" she choked.

"Yeah," gasped Evan, seated beside his wife, watching his daughter enjoy her first meal. "Happy birthday, Leia Lucina."

"Leia Lucina," repeated Mandy. "That _is_ a pretty name."

She then gasped as the contractions returned. "Doc!"

"The other baby's coming?" asked Dr. Mario.

"Yeah, you think?" Mandy grabbed onto Evan's hand and held it tight.

"All right, Mandy, I need you to push…"

And after five minutes of labor, Liam Luigi made his entrance into the world, wailing just as loudly as his sister. The boy also had his mother's eyes and his father's skin tone, but his hair was a slightly lighter shade of red. The nurses placed him on Mandy's chest next to Leia, his wails subsiding at the familiar contact with his mom. Another pair of gray eyes opened, scanning the lights and shapes so foreign to him, before focusing on his sister, still nursing. Just as she had done, Liam inched his way to his mother's other breast and began to suckle.

Evan had his hand clamped over his mouth, trying unsuccessfully to stifle his sobs. Luigi was also crying, a scene of happiness unfolding before him for the first time in too long.

Finally, Leia and Liam had their fill of their mother's milk. Dr. Mario helped Evan cut the umbilical cords, the placentas were delivered, and the staff left the new family alone. The parents watched Leia and Liam regard each other curiously, as if to check if the other came out okay. And then twin smiles broke out on their pudgy faces as they reached out for one another, gurgling.

"Look at that," murmured Mandy. "Now this reminds me of another pair of siblings." She glanced at Luigi, who blushed.

"Speaking of which, I gotta tell him the good news," said the man in green before stepping outside.

Evan scooted closer to Mandy, putting one arm around her, and the other around his son and daughter. He kissed his offspring's chubby cheeks and watched, along with Mandy, as the two babies drifted off to sleep, recovering from their exhausting entry into the world.

"Welcome to the world, Leia and Liam."

 **D'awwww!**


	42. Nocturne

**Nocturne**

 **TW: Religious references, talk of suicide/attempted suicide/self-harm and very graphic violence**

"Is it your will that Liam and Leia be baptized in the faith that you profess?" asked Master Core.

"It is," replied Evan.

"It is," joined Mandy.

MC nodded to a Mii chaplain, who streamed holy water onto the tops of the newborn babies' heads. The proud parents were dressed their Sunday best as they watched the christening of their babies.

"Liam Luigi Vidad and Leia Lucina Vidad," intoned MC, "I hereby baptize you in the name of the Father, of the Son and of the Holy Spirit."

Across from Mandy and Evan stood the godparents, Luigi and Daisy. The godmother wore a deep orange dress with tulle overlay, while the godfather wore an olive-colored, three piece ensemble. Matching smiles were on their faces over the prospect of sharing their wisdom with the two bundles of joy. As Mandy recovered in the hospital, the duo visited every day, bearing diapers and baby food. Luigi melted when he got to hold the twins—he swore he could sense Evan's spunk in them, especially in Leia. Whenever Liam got fussy, his twin stuck her tiny hand into his mouth or put her arm around him. They didn't want to be separated for even a moment.

"I think Leia is gonna be quite the protector when she grows up," Luigi had said, eliciting a laugh from the parents.

Once Mandy and the twins received a clean bill of health, they returned to the Smash Mansion, where Master Hand, Master Core and the other Smashers welcomed the babies as part of their circle. Leisure time was spent playing with or cooing over them, especially the young Smashers and the Villagers. Which led to the two tournament heads officiating the twins' baptism.

After the twins were christened, MC summoned the godparents to come forward and kneel. The chaplain asked them a few questions as Master Hand anointed the two with holy oil.

"Do you believe in God the Father?"

"Yes."

"Do you believe in his Son?"

"Yes."

"Do you believe in eternal life?"

"Yes."

"Do you believe in the Resurrection?"

"Yes."

On and on it went. MH kept his gaze on Luigi when the chaplain asked if he and Daisy renounced the Devil and his teachings.

After that affair was done with, there was a breezy reception in the backyard, where the parents and godparents posed with the twins for photos. As the sun set, both babies started fussing.

"It's time to put them to bed," smiled Mandy as she and Evan excused themselves and left.

Luigi followed them to their new room, watching happily as the parents tucked Liam and Leia into their crib and sang them a lullaby. He couldn't stop his sudden tears. The man who ultimately risked his safety to defend him had earned a happy ending.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"I understand that you brought someone to today's meeting," Dr. Thorpe said to Giulia at the next support group meeting.

"Yes," said Giulia, turning to smile at the Umbra Witch next to her. "It took some convincing, though."

Dr. Thorpe nodded to the newcomer. "Would you mind telling us your story?"

"First of all, my name is Bayonetta, but you can call me Bayo."

"Hello, Bayo," chorused the group.

"And I'm not exactly a newcomer. I've known L since I first joined Smash, and—Giulia is a very close friend of mine."

"Glad to have you, Bayo," said Luigi.

"I'm here today because Giulia is right. I need to face what's been done to me."

"Can you tell us what's been done to you?" Dr. Thorpe asked softly.

Bayonetta drew in a breath. "When I first arrived in Smash, I was a very strong fighter; L here can attest to that. But…" She cleared her throat. "A lot of people didn't like that. I became known for styling infinite combos on my opponents, and I could combo anyone to the upper blast line. Add in Witch Time, and…" She smiled a little.

Giulia held her hand. "It's okay," she whispered to her.

"You wouldn't believe the backlash I endured," Bayo went on, her voice shaking a little. "There were people screaming at Master Hand about how overpowered I was. That I could deal with, but then—it got worse. I started receiving hate mail. There were venomous posts on my social media pages. I was heckled on the battlefield. Crank callers harassed me day and night. I became—a black sheep. Whole countries wanted to _ban_ me! And when MH gave in and released patch 1.1.6, I faced snickers and comments that I got what I deserved.

"I hunt angels. I took on powerful foes. But these people—they made me feel _naked_ —like I wasn't in control of my life. It was like—it was like they wanted me to feel ashamed of my abilities. And as much as I tried, I couldn't make it go away."

"Is it still ongoing?" asked Dr. Thorpe.

Bayo shook her head "no". "But I can still hear them. See them. _Smell_ them. _Feel_ them. I can still sense the questions knocking at my door. I can still remember my confidence shaking. Now that my fighting style is 'tolerable', so to speak, many of them come to me in their leisure hours, doe-eyed, bearing beautiful flowers and jewelry and boxes of chocolate and bottles of wine, putting on a big spectacle about how _sorry_ they are and begging me to _please_ forgive them, solemnly swearing _never_ to treat me like that again. Like everything's supposed to _magically_ disappear after giving me those ridiculous petty gifts."

"You said something about questions. Could you elaborate on that, please?" asked Dr. Thorpe.

"Was I really overpowered? Did I really belong in Super Smash Bros? Was I giving the tournament a bad name? Was I making the participants uncomfortable? Should I just go back to my home world and hunt down angels? Did I frighten anyone—besides Pit and his twin whose name I won't mention? Did I really bring this on myself? These questions—and too many more to name."

"Gosh," said Luigi, feeling guilty. He'd been so fixated on the fact that Daisy didn't make the cut, and later on the unscrupulous characters targeting him, that he automatically assumed that Bayo was having a picnic. He'd seen her snark at those trying to put her down. Her wit and sharp tongue caused many a dissenter to back off with their tails between their legs. This was the first time the man in green had seen Bayo so vulnerable.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he spoke up. "I dealt with the exact same thing with my down throw combos. The rants in MH's office. The salty opponents. One such opponent reaming me out after a match. Even the hate-mail. You could've talked to me, Bayo. We could've supported each other, helped each other."

"Like I said, I thought I could handle it. I thought it would just fall off my shoulder, and I'd move on. But in the quiet moments—it all crashed onto me at once. I didn't think I could take it. Glasses upon glasses of wine couldn't shut it out. So, one night, I took out a small knife and…" She bowed her head and wept.

"It went on for so many nights. A twisted relief to the Hell I was subjected to. If I could, I'd pull these people apart with my bare hands. And the arsenal I first brought to Smash was nothing compared to my universe. Perhaps if they played my games, they wouldn't have been so quick to judge."

"Why choose cutting?" asked Dr. Thorpe.

"I don't know. I _do_ know that once I got word of my impending nerf, I doused myself in oil and lit a match. Pit happened to be there, and he put out the flames and took me to Dr. Mario's office. Pit, of all people, pulled me out of my personal Hell, along with his boyfriend, Corrin. I started talking to them when I felt down. And I began to see a psychiatrist in my home world. Once I felt better, I helped Luigi put his own conspirators away, met Giulia, and lived happily ever after, so to speak." She wiped her tears and smiled. "I think—I think I feel better now."

"Because you talked about it," nodded Dr. Thorpe.

"Yeah," agreed Luigi. "Thanks for opening up to us, Bayo."

"Yeah. Thanks," chorused the group.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Luigi rapped on Master Hand's door.

"Enter!"

Luigi stepped inside and strode to MH's desk. "Bayo was at my support group meeting today," he said.

MH was speechless. "I had no idea…"

"…that she was being bullied? I knew you'd say that," Luigi said calmly.

"L, she never told anyone," explained MH, "just like you never told me about your situation. I'm very powerful, but I can't read minds."

"But surely you saw the social media blowing up," said Luigi.

MH nodded gravely. "I flagged posts and issued citations and suspensions, but they went right back to doing it."

"Do you remember who was responsible?"

"L, you know that information's classified," said MH.

"MH, please understand. I saw her standing up to people trying to bother her. She seemed so strong. Today, I saw her break down in tears over what she went through. Take it from someone who experienced the same thing."

"What is this, L?" challenged MH. "Anger at your own tormentors?"

"Maybe," Luigi quietly admitted.

"When you come in for your next appointment with Dr. Park, you should discuss this with her," said MH.

"This isn't the first time a fellow Smasher's situation slipped under my radar," sighed Luigi.

"Kirby," realized MH.

Luigi nodded. "In Melee, people denounced him as 'low-tier trash' and a 'filthy casual'. And then Dr. Mario—they called him 'a cheap clone' and things like that. Well, I called Dr. Mario out on trying to conceal, but Kirby—seeing such a naïve, playful person fall to pieces broke me up inside. And somehow, those who did this tend to escape punishment. That's why I think—you need to punish your tormentors yourself. Because only you can give them what they soundly deserve. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth."

"Yeah, but—what you did was a bit—much. I cannot lie about that. And if we sit back and allow others to punish their transgressors themselves, what will we get? Anarchy. Mass hysteria. Lawlessness. That's why we have a justice system and a penal system. And if punishment is avoided in this world, there's the next world to consider."

Luigi nodded. "I believe in God, and I believe in His mercy and His vengeance. I know that He sees all. But the prospect of these bullies cast into the Eternal Flame are cold comfort at best."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because—they don't feel a hint of remorse. If they just acknowledge what they did and at least try to change, then maybe it won't be so bad. I stood godfather to my best friend's children. I was asked if I believed in eternal life and in the Resurrection. I was asked to renounce all things sinful. So, I have a pretty good idea as to who should be condemned and who should be saved."

"Who should be saved?" asked MH.

Luigi heaved a deep sigh. "I don't know, MH. I just don't know anymore."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 _ **A week later…**_

"I was raised to be a good kid," said Simon. "On school nights, I was in bed by 8p.m., even earlier. I turned in my homework on time, aced most of my tests and ran a few paper routes. I loved and respected my parents and practiced good manners. I was even-tempered and slow-to-anger. It happened when I was a freshman in high school. While walking home from school, I was accosted by a burly senior. He ordered me to relinquish my notebooks and pens. I stood firm and told him to go pick on someone his own size—so he beat me like an animal. By the time it was over, my nose was broken, my jaw was shattered and needed wiring—I could barely weep because of the pain. My parents went to the school and to the police. The senior was arrested and charges were filed. And what did he get for what he did to me? Not even a single day of jail time! 72 hours of community service, plus a 30-day suspension from school. I could swear he laughed at me as he waltzed out of the courtroom. And his mom and dad—they coddled him! I didn't see them discipline him at all! What has this world come to?" He angrily pounded his palm with his fist. "What has this world come to?"

"But you moved on from it," Dr. Thorpe said quietly. "You have a steady job, a girlfriend…"

"It's not that simple," said Simon. "I have to share my workspace with him!"

Gasps.

"They allow him to work with you after what he did?!" Caroline was beside herself.

"Yup. The things he gets away with when the boss's back is turned…"

"What's stopping you from telling on him?" asked Luigi. "Did he threaten you?"

"He showed me pictures of my girlfriend," swallowed Simon.

"My God," moaned Giulia.

"That's not all. Just the other day—he told me that I'd better bring her to his place for a 'formal introduction' this evening, and threatened both of us if I didn't."

Verne crossed himself.

"There must be something we can do," Eric said in a hushed tone.

"You can't help me," said Simon. "Not with this."

That was it for Caroline. Uttering a curse, she jumped up and kicked her seat.

"You see—this is why I shaved my bullies' heads!" she snapped.

"Caroline," Dr. Thorpe said soothingly.

"Don't you all get it?" roared Caroline. "These creatures aren't gonna stop! They insert themselves into our lives and implode them, and then they get to go home and kiss their loved ones as if nothing ever happened! Brittany and her gang—they were socialites, made the honor roll and were accepted into prestigious universities, living the high life—till I took a pair of scissors and a razor to their lovely locks!"

"I understand your anger, but we are here to support each other," Dr. Thorpe said sternly.

"I'm tired of sitting here and listening to this and not doing something about it! These despicable excuses for human beings—they'll never change! They'll be the same monsters wearing a mask! No jail time or admonishments will reform them! They'll just play the part to get out of there and cause more destruction! I've had it with these bullies! I've had it! They all need to be taught a lesson! They all need to have their hands and feet pulverized and their fingers and toes reduced to nothing, made to suffer as much as any person can suffer, and then, they need to be [ _bleep_ ]-ed with a painfully sharp object!"

"Caroline!" gasped Dr. Thorpe.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" Caroline started to sob. "It's just—I had a few good friends growing up, and Brittany and her clique of bad girls drove some of them to suicide! I'm sorry—I'm sorry—I'm so sorry!" She was in the throes of a full breakdown as Eric and Verne escorted her outside for some fresh air.

"I got her," Dr. Thorpe assured the group. "Talk among yourselves until I get back." She stood up and followed the trio out.

Luigi turned to Simon. "This guy—what's his name?" he asked.

"Irwin," replied Simon. "His name is Irwin."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 _ **Later that night…**_

With a shaky finger, Simon rang the doorbell to the home of his worst enemy. It was instantly answered by a man wearing an eager smile. "Simon!" he greeted cordially. "Glad to see you kept to our agreement."

"Why wouldn't I?" asked Simon.

"Please, come in," said Irwin Morrison, moving aside so that Simon and the lady on his arm could enter. Yet Simon saw through Irwin's courteous demeanor.

"Can I get you a drink?" asked Irwin.

"Please," Simon quickly responded. Saying "no" to this guy was an instant death wish.

Irwin went into the kitchen and fixed three cocktails. In the cocktails intended for his guests, he added a special ingredient to prevent Simon from interceding on his lady's behalf. He mixed a milder concentration into the lady's drink because he wanted her to fight him.

Whistling, Irwin returned to the living room, pleased to see that his guests hadn't bailed. Locks, security monitors and the like weren't necessary with Simon. Neither were restraints when it was time for the fun to begin. He probably wouldn't have to use the secret ingredient after all—because Simon knew that the slightest hint of defiance would only make things worse for him.

"Here we are," said Irwin, placing the drinks on the table.

"Thanks," said Simon. "Now that we're settled in, it's time for introductions. Irwin, this is Shelly, the love of my life."

"Hi," said Shelly in a husky voice. She reached out a satin-gloved hand, which Irwin shook.

"Would you mind lifting that lovely hat for me?" asked Irwin.

"Yes, actually. I have a skin condition at the moment. It should go away in a few days."

"Oh. Sorry to hear that," said Irwin. "What do you do around here?"

"I'm a dialect coach."

"Hm. Very interesting," nodded Irwin, though he didn't care a bit. "Maybe after our drinks, I can get a—private—lesson."

"Oh, Irwin—the lesson I have for you, you won't forget it even if you live to be a hundred."

Irwin flashed his pearly whites. "I'm gonna hold you to that!"

"Irwin, we're a little hungry," said Simon. "Could you please make us some nachos?"

"I'd like that," added Shelly.

"Certainly, since you asked so nicely," said Irwin. Back he went into the kitchen.

There was something Irwin didn't know.

The woman sitting next to Simon wasn't Shelly at all.

In fact, she wasn't even a _woman_!

"She" was a "he"—Luigi!

Here's what happened: The real Shelly had coached Luigi on her voice and mannerisms before lending him her favorite dress. Of course, Luigi had some experience with this sort of thing when he cross-dressed as Peach. Upon arrival at Irwin's place, as Irwin fixed the drinks, Simon and Luigi had paid attention to which drinks were spiked. Now, with Irwin distracted making nachos, Simon covertly switched Irwin's drink with the most spiked one.

"All right, everyone, here we go! Nacho time!" sang Irwin as he glided back into the den, a bowl of nachos in tow.

"Looks good," said Simon, taking a chip and popping it into his mouth. "Hey—anything good on TV?"

"Not as good as the woman I'm looking at now," cooed Irwin.

Simon fed a chip, and then another, to "Shelly". "I'm glad you're impressed."

Irwin picked up his glass and took a swig. "Feel free to make yourself comfortable for the evening," he said.

Simon and "Shelly" raised their glasses as well. "Cheers to that," they said.

"Cheers," said Irwin.

They toasted, "Shelly" and Simon pretending to drink their cocktails while Irwin downed his in a few swallows.

He started swaying back and forth. "Whoa," he said. "I made that a little too strong."

Luigi walked over and knelt beside him. "That's not the only mistake you made," he whispered in Irwin's ear.

With a dramatic flourish, he whipped off the hat and wig, and just as Irwin processed the fact that he'd been duped, the drug took effect, causing him to slump, unconscious, into Luigi's arms.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Irwin stirred weakly as a fist collided with his midsection. "What's going on?" he slurred.

The fist punched again and again, the drug slowly but surely wearing off enough for Irwin to see that he was in deep feces.

He was in a dark, moonlit room without a stitch of clothing, chained to a pillar. His arms were helplessly stretched above him, while his legs were weighted down by an iron ring and held shoulder-width apart. Then, the fist met his face, and he came fully awake.

"J—s!" he shrieked.

Punch. Punch. "Welcome back, Irwin."

Luigi's shirtless figure came into focus. He was clad in his leather gloves and breathing a little heavily. There was a slight sheen on his neck, chest and arms. But when Irwin saw those blue eyes, he understood his situation. They blazed into him with such abhorrence—

"Who are you?" asked Irwin. "Where's Simon?"

Luigi smiled. "You will never bother Simon again," he vowed quietly. "I'll make sure of that."

He clenched his fists and lit into Irwin's upper body.

"I know what you did to him in high school, all those years ago. What happened—he wouldn't show you any respect? When you were pounding on him—did you really feel like the king of high school?"

"I did my penance for that," croaked Irwin.

"I don't agree. I think you got off way too easily. You may have escaped punishment from the law—but not from me. I will see to it that everyone in law enforcement divisions across the country knows the name of Irwin Morrison."

Luigi aimed a punch squarely at Irwin's jaw, blood spouting out on impact. "Do you know how poor Simon felt when you were pounding him into the pavement that afternoon?" he asked. "Well—allow me to show you."

He let loose then, bombarding Irwin's face and body with crushing strikes, sending more blood spraying everywhere. Teeth flew every which way. Irwin's nose was smashed clear of his face, the bones in his jaw unrecognizable bits, and don't get me started on what became of his ribcage. The green-capped man continued to sling punches into the broken form, causing the fractured pieces of bone to grind against each other. As punch after punch met him, Irwin's bravado was totally destroyed, and he started to blubber and whine.

"Amazing. This is exactly how Simon looked when you were done with him," said Luigi.

"Please—no more," begged Irwin.

"How many times did he tell you that?" asked Luigi as he picked up a nasty-looking sledgehammer. "How many times did you ignore him?!"

He force-fed Irwin a power-up before viciously setting upon him with the sledgehammer, honoring Caroline's wishes and pulverizing as much of the man's body as he could. When the face and trunk were covered in bruises and blood, he now targeted the thighs, kneecaps, calves and feet, turning the bones in each toe into powder before repeating the process with the arms, hands and fingers. For the cherry on top, he used the sledgehammer to blast into Irwin's package, slamming the weapon in deliberate, coolly precise strikes while Irwin tried and failed to scream. Tears ran from his swollen eyes as Luigi proceeded to turn his junk into puree.

After what seemed like forever, Irwin got a brief respite. Luigi dropped the hammer and looked Irwin over, chest heaving, hair stuck to his forehead, cap slightly jostled, sweat falling like raindrops onto the floor, rage and satisfaction doing a dance on his expressive face. He smoothed his hair and adjusted his cap before undoing Irwin's bonds and letting him drop face-first to the ground. His hands lit up green, and then he burned Irwin's flank, back, butt and the soles of his feet.

"Who—are—you?" Irwin managed.

Luigi retrieved the sledgehammer and knelt behind Irwin. "I," he said shakily, inserting the tool deep inside him, "am everyone…" He started to thrust it in and out. "…you ever shamed, degraded, dehumanized, debased, hurt, laughed at, sneered at, harassed—drove to suicide." Each verb was punctuated with a deep, savage thrust.

Irwin was shaking in his boots.

The plumber's arms and shoulders rapidly pumped back and forth, continuing even as the ache started to set in. There was so much rage he had to release that aching muscles were moot to him. The sound of his own breathing seemed multiplied to infinity, along with his own choked cries of anguish while Irwin let out gurgling cries of pain. Hot, sticky sweat rolled off his body, his arms and his back; still, he kept going.

Then, he remembered the next thing he had in mind for the guy. He yanked out the sledgehammer, dropped it next to Irwin and got to his feet. After catching his breath, Luigi walked over to a tray of tools and picked out a ceramic knife.

He knelt back down beside Irwin and showed it to him. Irwin made panicked noises and shook his head, but Luigi smiled wickedly and carved the ceramic blade into his body. He continued with this till there were L-shaped cuts everywhere.

"Doesn't feel so good anymore," he spat. "Does it?!"

He trailed the ceramic knife down, down, down, until—

"This is from Simon himself—you piece of scum!"

Irwin screamed as fiery pain ripped through him.

In the shadows, Simon sat, drinking a beer, watching his former torturer suffer at the hands of his new friend. Enjoying every second of it.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Much later, Luigi had cleaned up and changed into his regular clothes. He dropped Simon off at his house before cruising aimlessly through the darkened streets, hoping to catch another bully before sunrise.

"Forgive me, Padre," he said quietly, "for I don't care anymore."

 **Please review.**


	43. Fire Down Below

**Fire Down Below**

The next day started off normally enough. Luigi woke up, ate breakfast, socialized with his friends, fought his matches and cuddled with Leia and Liam. During lunch, Dr. Thorpe called him, saying that the meetings would be held daily, rather than weekly. He chalked it up to Caroline's outburst and Bayo's confession.

So, that afternoon, he showered, changed clothes and headed off to the Community Center.

"How are you feeling?" he asked Caroline.

"A little better," she replied, "but I don't take back what I said."

"You're right, you know," said Luigi. "Sometimes, you have to be the vehicle for your own justice."

"Yeah?"

Simon strode in and plunked himself onto a chair. "Yeah," he replied, winking at Luigi.

One by one, Eric, Verne, Celine and the others walked in and took their seats.

All except Giulia.

"Hey," Verne piped up. "Where's our resident crimefighter?"

Bayo shrugged. "Extenuating circumstances," she explained.

"Police business?" asked Luigi.

"Maybe."

Dr. Thorpe walked in, greeted the participants and took roll call. "I understand that Giulia will be absent for the next few sessions due to overseeing an investigation," she said. "This morning, I was contacted by both her and her captain."

"Well," said Caroline. "We wish her well and hope this investigation wraps up soon."

Nods all around.

"Let's start the session with a question," said Dr. Thorpe. "If a person who bullied you is standing in front of you, then what would you say? Verne?"

"I'd tell them that they didn't break me. That I'm living a wholesome successful life which they have no place in whatsoever," responded the computer hacker.

"Eric?"

"I'd tell them to get their crap together before they bully the wrong person and wind up in jail or worse."

"Simon?"

"I'd make it very clear that I'm not allowing him near my family and if necessary, I will take him down myself."

"Caroline?"

"Honestly—I'd try to appeal to Brittany and tell her that her behavior and her attitude isn't cool. I get that I don't have the things she does, and that she's popular, but she doesn't have to be such a [ _bleep_ ] about it. Acting like that will just push people away."

"Bayo?"

"I'd be brutally honest and tell them that they're in no position to judge me. Some of them have been considered overpowered themselves at some point in Smash."

"Luigi?"

Luigi took a deep breath. "Let me tell you—if Fox or Pikachu or Captain Falcon were standing in front of me, then I'd really give them a piece of my mind."

"How?"

"I'd pull no punches in telling them how much they hurt me back then. I'd call them out on their crap and their condescending attitudes. How they discouraged me from socializing with them. How they made me feel small, like a useless face in the crowd."

"What would you say to each person individually? Let's start with Pikachu. You told us that you got into it over your side-specials in Melee. Imagine that he's standing here, right now. What would you tell him?"

"That he was an ignorant, selfish, a-hole!" The volume of Luigi's voice abruptly jumped up. "Did he really have antagonize me like that over something so petty?! He encouraged two people who already had a low opinion on me to use our feud as an excuse to make me more miserable! The Pokémon who used to be friendly with me—he turned them against me! Was it really worth it? Was a mere similarity between our side specials really worth the cruel words and acts he slung at me?

"Melee—was a nightmare for my friend Kirby. Did I tell you about him? In the first tournament, he was top-tier, but in Melee, he was last-place. Almost all of the Smashers dumped on him because of it and called him a 'filthy casual'! They kicked him around, sometimes figuratively, sometimes literally. And you know the worst part? _Pikachu_ ," He spat out the name, "who cares so God—n much about him, was too focused on how I supposedly copied his precious Skull Bash to give a [ _bleep_ ]!" He hiccupped a few times, crying angrily. "That's my main issue with him."

"It seems," said Dr. Thorpe, "that you're still holding a lot of anger from that period. Have you considered getting Pikachu alone and talking it over with him?"

"We're in a very good place. I don't want to ruin that. And I'm also worried that if I bring it up, then I'll lose it!" He sniffled.

"Okay, L. Now, I want you to clear your mind and picture Fox in this room," instructed Dr. Thorpe. "What would you say then?"

Luigi clenched his fists, eyes flashing. "We were buddies until he saw that list in 1999," he said tightly. "Then, he could care less about me. He started thumbing my nose at me, talking down to me, helping to pull bathroom pranks, tying my shoelaces together—swaggering and strutting the halls like he owned the place! Then, in Melee, he started calling himself a 'tier god', _demanding_ attention, _preening_ , throwing parties with the obnoxiously loud music which lasted late into the night, treating the Wireframes like his personal servants—even having his own limousine! It was 20XX this and 20XX that and—oh, _Dio_ , I'm getting nauseous just thinking about it! Did I mention that he actively encouraged the higher tiers to abuse Kirby?" He growled. "I swear if I hear one more 'blip'…"

"Is this about his conduct in Smash 64 or Melee?" asked Dr. Thorpe.

"I—I don't know. Both, I guess."

"What about Falcon? What would you say to him?"

"'Say'? Oh, no, no. He deserves a Hell of a Falcon Punch to the face for the b.s. he put me through!"

"I assume he's the worst of the three?"

"And how! Let's see, he constantly baits people to show him their moves, shows off, enjoyed the bathroom pranks and shoelace tying he sprang on me, called me 'the last place loser' and a n—b, said I was 'the bottom of the food chain' and talked trash rather than fight! And when he was paired with his girlfriend in a Team Battle and they lost, who did he take it out on? Her!"

Dr. Thorpe paled. "Did he…?"

"No. He just scapegoated her. Eventually, they made up, but still. I don't see how she tolerates him."

"L, you need to talk to Captain Falcon, to Fox and to Pikachu. You say you've forgiven them, but is that true?"

"I forgave them, as I've forgiven the Toads for overlooking me, as I've forgiven Mario for stepping on my foot after I won that Power Tennis tournament. But I can never forget. That's why it hurts so badly."

"That's why you're afraid you'll lose it if you try to broach the subject with them."

Luigi nodded. "The anger—when I fight them in a match, it flares up big-time."

"I see."

A Villager poked his head in. "Dr. Thorpe, the police are here," he said.

Dr. Thorpe sighed. "Let them in."

The Villager obeyed. Giulia strode in, accompanied by Quinn and two uniformed officers.

"Hi, Giulia," said Dr. Thorpe. "Is something wrong?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," said Giulia. "First of all, I'd like you all to meet Cecilla Quinn, my captain. We're currently investigating a savage attack on a man. Does the name Irwin Morrison mean anything to any of you?"

Dead silence.

"How about you, Simon? He attacked you and menaces you on a daily basis. Was this payback or self-defense? If you clear this up now, I promise you we'll put in a good word with the DA."

"I spent last night with my girl, Shelly. You can ask her yourself," said Simon.

"I think I'll do that," said Giulia.

"Giulia, is this attitude necessary?" asked Luigi.

"Ah, L," she smiled. "I was just about to get to you."

"Why? I don't know anything," said Luigi.

"Just like you don't know anything about Howard or Gil Huph? Just like you don't know anything about those men on the boat? Just like you don't know anything about the rash of attacks that's broken out in these past five months?"

"Pretty much," Luigi said calmly. "Those days are behind me, Giulia."

"I find that hard to believe," said Giulia, "but maybe you're the red herring. Maybe I should focus on Caroline here?"

Caroline huffed. "What did I do?"

"If I recall correctly, you said that these bullies needed to be messed up, have their toes broken and have a sharp object shoved in them—and I'm paraphrasing that. Guess how we found Irwin?"

"Look, _officer_ —I didn't mean it. I was just letting off steam, all right?"

"It's an odd coincidence, though, that Irwin was attacked in exactly the same manner you described," Giulia said smartly. She turned to the unis. "Don't you agree?"

The unis nodded.

"You don't have any proof that it was either of us," said Caroline. "Unless you have spider senses or something."

Chuckles.

Giulia felt her cheeks burn. "Okay, fine. Let's see how well your comedy routine fares downtown." She signaled to the unis, who hoisted Caroline out of her seat.

"What? I didn't do anything!" protested Caroline as she struggled.

"Judging by the display you put on the other afternoon, you're the prime suspect," Giulia said, smiling sweetly.

Luigi's gut twisted. He couldn't let this woman go to prison for something he did! Should he confess? But then again—everyone would be disappointed in him for relapsing into such a dark path. Would they understand why? The man in green was torn.

"You get your grubby paws off me!" Caroline snarled at the unis. "I'm not a criminal! I'm not a vigilante! Tell them, Dr. Thorpe! I'm a nice girl! _I'm the victim here!_ "

"We'll see about that," said Giulia.

It all happened so fast. Caroline wrenched herself free from the unis and turned on Giulia. "You [ _bleep_ ]!" Her fingernails raked across the policewoman's face, deep enough to draw blood.

Gasps.

Giulia didn't even cry out. Instead, she calmly drew her Taser and squeezed the trigger.

"No!" shouted Luigi.

The electrical current hit Caroline in the stomach, sending her to her knees and then her stomach, twitching and jerking. To everyone's horror, Giulia continued to pour electricity into the prone form, her lovely face warped in utter hatred!

"Giulia, that's enough!" barked Quinn.

The policewoman ignored her, watching gleefully as Caroline's eyes rolled back into her head. The support group attendees shouted desperately. Eric threw up.

Quinn stepped forward and grabbed Giulia's Taser. "I said enough, Giulia!"

The captain's words snapped Giulia out of her rage. Slowly, she released her grip on the Taser, sweating, her breathing labored. She looked at Caroline, and then at her hands, then back at Caroline, then back at her hands.

"Giulia, look at me. Look at me." Quinn's voice was softer, comforting. The policewoman raised her head and looked at her boss's face with dull, empty eyes.

"Slow, deep breaths. Both feet on the floor. You're all right, Giulia. You're all right."

On the floor, Caroline moaned.

Giulia spun back around and pointed a shaky finger at the college student. "Get her out of here," she spat.

The unis didn't even try to be gentle as they hauled Caroline to her feet, cuffed her and led her away.

"Giulia—I'm going to have to take your Taser," said Quinn.

"I know," Giulia said, emotionlessly.

"The medic will take a look at your face," Quinn went on. "As of now, you are on paid administrative leave until Internal Affairs straightens this out."

"Paid leave—are you serious?!" cried Luigi, stunned over what he'd witnessed.

"She attacked me!" Giulia hotly retorted.

"I suggest you stay out of this, L," said Quinn, her tone begging Luigi to mess with her. She draped an arm over Giulia's shoulders and gently steered her out of the room.

"Oh, my God," murmured Eric.

"What in the Inferno was that?" agreed Luigi.

"Well," said Dr. Thorpe. "That was interesting."

"Police brutality," grumbled Verne. "It's everywhere."

Angry mutters.

"Everyone—I know that tensions are high…" said Dr. Thorpe.

Luigi stood. "I gotta get down there and see if she's okay," he said. "I—I'll see you guys tomorrow." Briskly, he walked out.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Luigi raced into the precinct to find Quinn waiting for him.

"How is she?" he asked. "How's Caroline?"

"We checked her out," said Quinn. "There's no lasting damage. She's in interrogation right now."

"Can I see her?"

"I don't know," sighed Quinn. "She's in big trouble, though. Assaulting a police officer is a serious offense."

"Surely, she didn't mean it," said Luigi.

"You're defending her?" asked Quinn.

"What she did was wrong," Luigi told her, "but so was Giulia's reaction." He paused. "Wait—did it—trigger something? A flashback to her days as the class butt-monkey?"

"We think so," replied Quinn. "The matter will be addressed at an in-house disciplinary hearing."

"What about Caroline?" pressed Luigi. "I don't think she meant to scratch Giulia. She was under emotional duress!"

"That's for the department psychologist to decide," Quinn said smartly.

"You think Kovacs will offer her a deal?"

"Honestly—since Giulia is a good friend of hers—I don't think so."

A woman in a blouse, blazer and skirt walked in. "I presume you have my client here?" she asked.

"You're Caroline's attorney?" asked Quinn.

The woman exchanged a knowing look with Luigi before responding, "I am. Priscilla Jackson, at your service. Now, would you be so kind as to take me to my client?"

At that moment, the two unis appeared, marching Caroline toward a holding cell. The young woman turned and looked at Priscilla and Luigi. And that was when they saw.

"Oh, my God. Caroline!" shouted Luigi, as he and Priscilla started toward her.

"Don't worry, Caroline," said Priscilla. "We're gonna get you out of this."

Poor Caroline looked as if she'd gone eight rounds with Rhonda Rousey. One eye swollen shut, the other in a squint, her nose at a wonky angle and spewing blood and her jaw hinged open, leaking blood and drool. By the way she was limping, her clothes concealed other injuries.

"You b—ds," hissed Luigi. "What did you do to her?"

"What we had to," responded one of the unis, big and full of ego. "She tried to do to us what she did to our sister in blue!"

They hastened Caroline away before anything else could be said.

"I'd better have that in writing!" Quinn called after them.

"This is ridiculous! All you have in an outburst she didn't mean!" said Priscilla.

"She's right! She wasn't in her right mind!" Luigi joined in. "You don't have DNA, fingerprints or anything to nail her!"

"Let me ask you something, L—if she's innocent, then who attacked Irwin?" asked Quinn.

"Given his history—he just harassed the wrong person," offered Priscilla.

"Yeah. Maybe he did," said Luigi.

"Even if she didn't attack Irwin, she still has to answer for attacking one of my best officers," said Quinn. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

Quinn walked away, leaving Luigi and Priscilla in stunned silence.

 **Please review!**


	44. Interlude: A Telling Talk

**A Telling Talk**

 ** _Caroline's POV_**

 **I'm released of my own recognizance and ordered to surrender my passport. Priscilla tells me that my chances are better than I think—she's pursuing an affirmative defense, and there's evidence of excessive force by the police. Despite my situation, I am in a rather happy mood.**

 **The day after my arraignment, I invite Luigi to lunch at Brewster's Café. I'm clad in one of my favorite cocktail dresses, my hair in its usual tight ringlets. I don't look like a vicious criminal at all, thank you very much. I sit at the table, sipping on peach iced tea, allowing myself to think over the events of my life so far. Overcoming Brittany and her friends. Arriving at Dr. Thorpe's support group. Meeting Luigi. That plumber understands me, and I understand him. And it appears that we have a certain fetish in common—**

 **Luigi walks in and greets me with a smile. I rise from my chair and hug him, and then we order our food.**

 **"Are you okay?" he asks.**

 **"Yeah," I tell him.**

 **"Caroline, I'm sorry," he says.**

 **"It's not your fault."**

 **"You don't understand." He leans in close and whispers. "It was me. I did that to Irwin. But I never, ever wanted you to go down for that."**

 **I beam. "It's okay. I'll take the fall for you."**

 **"No!" he hisses. "I already had someone do that! I want to turn myself in, but—I'm scared about what will happen to my friends when I'm gone. I have to look out for them."**

 **"L, listen to me," I entreat. "I didn't know what I was doing when I clawed Giulia. I was in the throes of a traumatic flashback. And Irwin—I was walking down the street, minding my own business, when he accosted me."**

 **"Which triggered another flashback," reasons Luigi.**

 **"Exactly," I wink.**

 **"Why are you risking your freedom for me?" he asks.**

 **"Because I like what you're doing for us," I say softly. "It's like—you're watching over us. We sleep better knowing that a bully is physically incapable of touching us rather than locked in a cell with a chance of breaking out. There are things we all want to do to the ones who hurt us—and you're the one with the b—s to do it."**

 **"You know," he gasps.**

 **"Hey," I assure him. "Who am I to judge? I'm the girl who single-handedly tracked down those mean girls and shaved them bald. I'd accompany you, but—there's just too much at stake."**

 **"I understand."**

 **"L—I think I know why you don't trust the police. They're corrupt."**

 **"Absolutely. A chief of police was in Spike Plaxwell's pocket, along with the majority of the Las Vegas police force. A former FBI agent lied to get immunity for Howard and his friends, and a few active FBI agents were in on it, as well. Even Master Hand—he's not a police officer, but he was easily manipulated. First by Stuart Bennigan, and then—by his own twin. He let Crazy Hand get away with so much."**

 **"If they're so easily pliable," I muse, "then how can we trust them?"**

 **"Caroline—what happened to you at the station?" Luigi suddenly asks.**

 **I look left and right, making sure nobody's listening, before I begin.**

 **"First, they look me to the medic, who examined me and told me that I was fine. Then, it was off to an interrogation room. They—uh—shackled me to the chair. I mean, full-body shackles. And they told me—that I went off on the wrong police officer."**

 **"** _ **Dio**_ **," gasps Luigi.**

 **"That's not the worst of it. They denied me my two phone calls and blatantly ignored my right to counsel. I saw one of them cover up one of the monitors. The other said that they were gonna do something special for me. Then, they disabled all of the surveillance equipment before they—started."**

 **I lift my dress to reveal the ugly blue and purple swirls mottling my body. "First, they did it with their fists, and then they used their nightsticks. But you know what? I refused to cry out, even when they tried to make me incriminate myself."**

 **Luigi blinks. "You mean…?"**

 **"Yes. I didn't scream, cry or beg them to stop. I showed no sign of weakness or breaking, which angered them further. It went on for what seemed like hours. Then, they unshackled me, put me in handcuffs and spirited me off to the holding cell. That's when you and Pris arrived. They put me in a cell with a few mean-looking women and encouraged me to 'get on their good side as quickly' as possible. I was in there all night with those women."**

 **"Yikes. I'm gonna do some research on those two unis," says Luigi.**

 **"When I first saw them, I thought I recognized them," I shudder a little bit. "Maybe that's just me."**

 **"Hey," Luigi says quietly. "I'm not gonna let them get away with this. I promise."**

 **I beam. "Thanks, L." Then, I reach into my purse and take out my high school yearbook.**

 **"Here," I say, sliding it toward him. "I've kept this with me ever since I graduated. Those two unis put on some weight, but seeing them sparked something."**

 **Luigi takes the yearbook. "If I find something, I'll let you know."**

 **Our food arrives. A Reuben sandwich with a side of fries for me, and a chicken pesto sandwich with a side of fries for him. As we chow down, we decide to change the subject. I talk about life as a college student, and he talks about adventures and misadventures in the tournament. After we're finished, Luigi pays the bill, and we agree to meet for lunch again, same time next week.**

* * *

 _ **Luigi's POV**_

 **I head over to the station, armed with questions. They think that just because they have a badge, they can hurt people at will? Oh, how very wrong they are…**

 **"Quinn!" I greet cheerily as she turns to face me.**

 **"What can I do for you, L?" she asks.**

 **"First of all, emotions were running high the last time we spoke, so I just wanna apologize for that," I say candidly. "Also, I hear you like Krispy Kreme, so…" I hold out a box of freshly-baked donuts.**

 **Quinn takes the box. "Thanks."**

 **"Is Giulia doing okay?"**

 **"The scratches on her face required several stitches." Quinn takes out a donut and bites into it. "She has her hearing in a few days, so she's resting right now."**

 **"I want you to know that I intend to take the high road and forgive her for what she did to Caroline," I say.**

 **"Very kind of you. Are you also willing to testify to her good character?"**

 **"Don't push your luck," I say. "Actually, I, uh—have a question about the unis who brought Caroline in. Do you know what they did to her in there?"**

 **"They told me she came at them. They had to subdue her."**

 **"How could she do that when she was shackled to the chair?"**

 **Quinn's eyes bug out. "She was what?"**

 **I tell her everything Caroline has told me.**

 **"And is she willing to testify to this under oath?" asks Quinn.**

 **"Absolutely," I reply. "Which brings me to my next question." I hold up the yearbook. "Would you recognize those two if you saw their high-school photos?"**

 **Quinn arches an eyebrow. "Why are we playing this game?"**

 **"Just—bear with me here, Cap'n."**

 **Quinn lifts another donut from the box as she flips through the yearbook. Halfway through, her eyes light up. "My God."**

 **"What?" I ask her.**

 **She pulls up the profile of one of the officers. "One of those boys—he's Officer Stillman!"**

 **"This Officer Stillman—is he—badge heavy?"**

 **"He has a long list of reprimands, but he told me he's changed!" gasps Quinn. She looks closely at the yearbook picture. "Yup, it's him. Dirk Stillman."**

 **"Who's the other one?"**

 **Quinn wears a more perplexed look. "Officer Quinlan. But he's clean! After Giulia, he's our poster child!"**

 **"Unless Stillman manipulated him," I deduce.**

 **"Well, they** _ **are**_ **very close," she says.**

 **"Exactly."**

 **Quinn picks up the phone and dials a few number. "Hello, yes—I want Officers Stillman and Quinlan in my office yesterday and they'd better not make the mistake of keeping me waiting!" She slams the phone down. "Thank you for telling me this, Luigi. If what you say is true, then they will be punished severely."**

 **I nod. "Good day, Cap'n."**

 **As I exit the station, I give Caroline a buzz.**

 **"Hey, Caroline. What do you remember about two guys named Stillman and Quinlan?"**

* * *

 **Review?**


	45. Dr T and the Plumber

**Dr. T and the Plumber**

Early the next morning, Dr. Thorpe was sifting through paperwork in her office when she heard a knock on her door. "Come in."

Luigi entered, a sunny smile on his face. "Hi," he said. "May I speak freely with you?"

"Sure. What is it?"

Luigi cleared his throat. "Don't—go too hard on Giulia," he said. "As much as I want to see her punished for flying off the handle, she might have been reacting to a flashback."

"You think Caroline's lashing out triggered her?"

"I know it did. I saw the look on her face after she got scratched."

"L—I know you mean well, but I can't condone acts of violence, let alone police brutality," Dr. Thorpe said softly.

"What do you intend to do?" asked Luigi.

"I will consider the mitigating circumstances you just mentioned. I don't want to kick her out, but I don't want her to think it's okay to wave a Taser around anytime it suits her."

"Internal Affairs will agree with you. The hearing is coming up, and I think you should testify on her behalf."

"Character witness?"

"Or expert witness," shrugged Luigi.

"She already has an expert witness. Dr. Mario," explained Dr. Thorpe, "but I am willing to testify to her good character based on her interactions with the group. I know she's not a violent or 'badge-heavy' person."

Luigi nodded. "Giulia and I are old friends, and she helped me put Spike and the others away. That's why I'm trying to take the high road and cut her a little slack. Everybody makes mistakes, and I don't want us to fall out because of it."

"You forgive her?"

"I—guess."

"Then why can't you forgive Falcon, Fox or Pikachu?"

"I forgave them years ago."

"Have you really—or are you just trying to sweep what they did to you under the rug?"

Luigi was silent. Dr. Thorpe made a good point.

"I'm angry at what they did, but I'm not angry at them," he said finally.

"You sounded angry when you were talking about them," said Dr. Thorpe. "You told the group how aggressively you fought against them in your matches."

"I guess—I still feel this need to prove myself to them—that I'm more than what they think I am." Luigi dropped his eyes. "I lay awake in bed and think about it sometimes. Despite their genuine remorse, despite their wholehearted attempts to make it up to me, it still gets to me. The fact that a piece of paper could change Falcon and Fox's minds about me. For a mere piece of paper, it sure carried a lot of weight."

"Is it anger you're feeling—or betrayal?" challenged Dr. Thorpe.

Luigi said nothing. The bursts of fire and adrenaline made it feel like anger, but honestly, he felt more betrayed than anything. Fox and Falcon's about-faces had betrayed his kindness, hospitality, trust and friendship, as did Pikachu's accusations of him copying his Skull Bash. And the fact that electric mouse had left Kirby to fend for himself during those dark days was a very serious betrayal in his eyes.

He closed his eyes, blind with pain. "Everything they said to me, every name they called me, every object they threw at me, every prank they pulled, every shoelace they tied together—they are wounds that haven't developed scar tissue." He made no move to stop his sudden tears. "Big, gaping, heavily bleeding wounds, and whenever I see them standing across from me on the battlefield, it's like someone sticking knives into the wounds and twisting them. Hard."

"Do you feel the urge to take vengeance on them like you did with the others?"

Luigi was sobbing profusely. "I try to acknowledge that they've changed their ways after seeing how alienated I felt, but it hurts! It [ _bleep_ ]-ing hurts!"

"What Giulia did yesterday—that hurts, too, right?"

"Y-yeah…"

"Then one of these days, get them all in a room and talk it out. Let it out of your system. Maybe losing it is for the best, because that's those long-repressed feelings finally coming out into the open."

"I—I guess you're right. What's gonna happen with Giulia?"

"I will talk privately with her after her hearing."

"And Caroline?"

"She won't be punished. One thing I can agree with you on—Giulia had no right to provoke her like that."

Luigi wiped his tears. "I'll see you later today."

"Likewise."

The plumber bid Dr. Thorpe good day and left her office.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Later that morning, Luigi bought a bouquet of flowers and paid Giulia a visit.

"How are you holding up?" he asked when Giulia opened the door.

Giulia looked up, most of her face concealed by a white mask. "The medic said I needed stitches," she said tonelessly.

"I…"

"Don't," Giulia cut him off. "There's no need to pretend, L. I know you're on her side."

"I'm on no-one's side," Luigi said gently. "Both of you were in the wrong, but frankly, your antagonistic manner pushed her over the edge."

"So, it's my fault?"

"No." Luigi took a deep breath. "Look—I'm trying to be understanding and forgiving. I know why you reacted as you had."

"Really? What are you, the Cop Whisperer?"

"Caroline must've inadvertently triggered a flashback. Giulia—however strongly I feel regarding your investigation into Grant's suicide, I wouldn't wish something like this on you."

"Wow, that's rich coming from the man who yelled at my captain!" snapped Giulia. "You are encouraging this, Luigi! In fact, if it weren't for you, nobody in that support group would have humiliated us back there!"

Luigi held up his hands defensively. "I didn't mean to yell at her. You've got to understand, I was in a very bad place…"

"Just like Caroline was in a very bad place when she used me as a scratching post?!"

"I really don't like your attitude, Giulia. You need to calm down, right now."

"Oh, are you giving me orders, Luigi?! You're giving me orders?! Well, let me ask you something—who's the police officer here—me or you?"

"I know this is taking a toll on you, but you have no right to take it out on me," Luigi said to her. "I didn't come here to fight with you, all right? I came to see if you were okay."

" _Does this look okay to you?!_ " Giulia whipped off her Phantom of the Opera-esque mask to reveal her disfigured face. The deep, crimson scratch marks accompanied by angry swelling and discoloration. " _Your friend did this to me!_ "

Luigi stared.

"I can't walk through my own precinct without my own brothers and sisters and blue staring at me with their pitying looks! I can't walk my own streets without the citizens I've sworn to protect gawking at me and stifling snickers! And Bayo—I can't stand to look at her anymore, knowing that this face now repulses her!"

"Bayo…?"

"Yeah, we're seeing each other, not that it matters anymore. If she sees this, she'll throw me out in horror!"

"Not if she loves you," said Luigi.

"And exactly what do you know about true love?" sneered Giulia. "How am I supposed to do my job—to live—with a face like this, huh?! I wish I were dead!"

"Giulia, please—don't say that," said Luigi. "Those scars will heal, trust me. And with a little time and effort, maybe you can forgive Caroline."

"She doesn't deserve my forgiveness," sniffed Giulia, putting the mask back on.

"That's—that's also why I came here to see you," Luigi said gently. "I think you and the department are a little too rough on her."

"Last I checked, it's illegal to put your hands on a law enforcement officer."

"What I'm saying is—your fellow unis were a little too—enthusiastic—in questioning her, and then they tossed her in a holding cell with some scary-looking women. I mean, that kind of treatment—I don't think her friends in the support group, myself included, will have it."

"Oh, so her personal cheerleaders won't have it." Giulia laughed. "Are they the ones to decide how the police should act?"

"They might be if you insist," said Luigi.

Giulia blinked. "Would you mind repeating that? 'They might decide how an officer should act in an investigation'. What are you threatening me with?"

"It's not a threat," said Luigi. "It's a warning."

"Oh, there are rumblings, are there?" scoffed Giulia.

"No, there is worry. We regard excessive force as strongly as you regard assaulting a police officer."

"Bullied or not, Caroline committed a crime, and she will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law for it," Giulia said tightly. "I'm going to enjoy watching her have her day in court, and my good friend Kovacs will show no mercy when she cross-examines her on the stand. And when the prosecution is done with her, I'm going to see her thrown in the hole with the worst of the worst—real scum who are quite capable of taking care of someone like her. If she's lucky, I'll throw in a bar of soap and a jar of lube."

"Giulia—listen to yourself," pleaded Luigi. "This isn't you. It's like you're channeling the people who antagonized you and Bella. What you're doing with Caroline—it's a personal vendetta."

"Personal vendetta—well, if that's not the pot calling the kettle black!"

"Giulia—you're my friend. I know you. You're warm and caring and just. Please—don't do this."

"She was combative. Hostile and combative. She inspired a distrust of law enforcement among that group. I did not put that spirit there, she did. So, she will answer for her actions, and Internal Affairs will see that I acted in self-defense." Giulia smiled coldly. "Are you calling my ability to effectively carry out my duties, Luigi. Are you a vigilante yourself?"

Luigi just stared at Giulia, unable to recognize the bitter, vindictive woman she'd suddenly become. Shaking his head in disgust, he turned on his heel and left.

"Yeah, you can run, but you can't hide, L," she called after him. "That's right, I'm onto you, pal. Do you hear me? I'm onto you! And when I nail you to the wall, you'll never fix pipes, rescue princesses or hunt down ghosts in this universe again! I'm everywhere, Luigi! You can never escape me!"

Her voice faded into the distance as Luigi kept walking until he heard no more. He slipped one hand into the pocket of his overalls and fingered the flash drive resting within. Giulia didn't know this, but Luigi had recorded what went down between her and Caroline and copied it to that flash drive. It was something which could drastically alter the case against her. And if she didn't drop her little attitude soon, Luigi would have no choice but to hand over the flash drive to Internal Affairs!

 **Oh, boy...**


	46. Ignition

**Ignition**

 **Chapter contains alcohol use, torture and violence**

 _"What do you remember about these guys named Stillman and Quinlan?"_

 _"Oh, a lot of things. None of them good. They followed Brittany around like puppies on a leash. Whatever she told them to do, they did."_

 _"And nobody checked anything."_

 _"Let's just say Britt pulled some strings to get them into the force—before I made off with her lovely hair."_

 _"Caroline, are you sure these are the guys?"_

 _"I never forget a face. Especially theirs."_

Over and over, Luigi replayed that phone conversation in his mind. Over and over, he imagined Caroline at the mercy of those two crooked cops. Over and over, he saw her battered face. Over and over, he saw her sitting at the defendant's table with her head held high. Over and over, he saw her putting on a brave face on the witness stand, enduring Kovacs's cross-examination. Over and over, he replayed Giulia's promise to see Caroline fry.

And each time he did, his strikes against the Sandbag before him doubled in strength.

It was mid-afternoon. The Training Room was sparsely populated, leaving Luigi alone with his racing thoughts. He couldn't believe how antagonistic Giulia was acting nowadays. Yes, Caroline attacked her, but she shouldn't be demonized for it! She'd already been demonized enough growing-up! As someone who faced harassment herself, the policewoman should've known better. She should've shown some compassion. Instead, she used her badge to push her around. Who's to say that she wasn't becoming like the pushovers she'd encountered in high school?

After his heated conversation with Giulia, Luigi decided that he wasn't going to make excuses for her anymore. She believed that Caroline should face the music for what she did, but the same applied to her. Hopefully, whatever Internal Affairs dished out would snap her out of her little funk.

His mind returned to the flash drive. He had a good mind to post the footage on YouTube and Facebook for the world to see. If she was going to treat him like an enemy, then he'd show her an enemy. He chided himself a second later. Doing that would make him no better than the ones who posted videos of his own humiliations on social media. What if someone had done that to Bella? His group was supposed to help each other heal, not turn on each other! Maybe turning it in to Internal Affairs would be enough. Maybe—

He went right back to the way she yelled at him, the way she hurled accusations at him, that he was encouraging people to distrust the police. That was a lie! Just because he was losing faith in law enforcement didn't mean he was telling others that they were untrustworthy! It was like Giulia was taking her problems and projecting them onto him. But didn't people once do that with her? Didn't she know how it felt? Didn't she realize that she was acting like the people she dedicated her life to getting off the streets?!

Then, he stopped thinking about his talk with Giulia, because it made him see red. He'd already busted a hole in three Sandbags so far. Luigi might have exacted poetic justice against bullies far and wide, but there was one thing he'd sworn never to do—lay hands on a woman in anger. Giulia had better thank her lucky stars for that, because had she been confronted with a less dignified man—Luigi didn't allow himself to complete that sentence.

All through the afternoon and into the evening, the man in green worked out his frustration and hurt on those Sandbags as his favorite songs played at full volume. As he felt himself calming down, he revisited the argument with Giulia, looking upon it with fresh eyes. Maybe Giulia needed some time alone; the incident must've shaken her up. Once she cooled off, she'd realize how she was acting and apologize. Maybe she'd have the charges against Caroline dropped. But that was probably wishful thinking.

After one last round with the Sandbag, Luigi decided to call it a day. After wiping his face and neck with his shirt, he turned off his music, grabbed his gym bag and hightailed it to his room for a refreshing shower.

The cool water was the answer to his frazzled nerves. Once he was clean and in a fresh pair of clothes, he was less upset about what went down between him and Giulia. Once they were both ready to make it right, he'd talk to her. But she needed to get it together before she lost everyone close to her for good.

His phone rang.

"Hey, Caroline. Yeah, I'm on my way."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Luigi met Caroline at a Chinese restaurant, where they were seated at a private booth under the stars.

"Nice place, huh?" asked Caroline.

"Yeah."

The hostess set down a bottle of sake and two glasses, and then left them be.

"What's new with you?"

Luigi filled his glass and took a sip. "Giulia," he said.

"Ah—Giulia, Giulia, Giulia." Caroline rolled her eyes. "Let me guess, she gave you the doe eyes and whined about how I savagely attacked her?"

"Actually—no," said Luigi. "We—got into it over you. She said some pretty awful things."

"What kinds of things?"

"That you probably wouldn't have dreamed of scratching her until I came along. That she was humiliated that day. That you were the enemy and that I was happy you did it."

"Are you?"

"I think there was a better way for you to handle it, but yeah."

"What else did she say?"

"That she was going to make sure the prosecution came down hard on you, and that she was going to have you locked up with 'the worst of the worst'. Then, she started ranting about how she was going to run me out of town. Or something like that."

"Wow," said Caroline. "Now I really need a drink."

"I just walked away. If I hadn't I would've done something I regret."

"What is wrong with her?"

"That's what I've asked myself all day. Whatever it is, it's not getting her any sympathizers."

"Indeed. I hope Internal Affairs knocks her down a peg."

"Me, too. Here, I want to show you something."

Luigi took out the flash drive. "This—is footage of what happened that day. I've held on to this for a very long time, and I don't know what to do with it."

"Besides show it to the board?"

"Yeah, but—I don't want her to get in trouble. Despite our exchange, despite her hurting you—I still like her, and I don't want to lose her friendship."

"But…?"

"I'm angry, and I don't want her to think that she can just get away with talking to me like that. I came _thisclose_ to putting it all over Facebook."

"That's what _I_ would've done," confessed Caroline, "but then again, you're not me. Be honest with me—would you hand it over to the board or do something else with it?"

Luigi stared intently at her. "I think this can come in handy regarding your case," he said. "I want to make her an offer she can't refuse. Either drop the charges, or evidence of her crime will spread through the Internet like a virus."

"Whoa. That's deep, even for you."

"C'mon—I'm not like that. I hunt down bullies in the night, but I'd never hurt any of my friends."

"Then do you think you should turn over that flash drive as evidence?"

"I don't know, Caroline. I just don't know."

"Hm. Pour me another."

As the night rolled on and the sake flowed, Caroline and Luigi began to cut loose. They were two friends enjoying some quality time, briefly forgetting the stress in their lives. The mess with Giulia and the trial and the bullies in their lives seemed lightyears away. Sitting there at a table overlooking the night, they shared crab wontons and chow mein, telling each other dirty jokes and taking potshots at the follies around them.

"I'll be honest with you, L—the last time I got this plastered, I wound up dancing and twerking on a bar," said Caroline.

"Really? How long ago was that?"

"A few years. When I sobered up, they told me that I was shaking it like Miley Cyrus!" She laughed.

"Well, what if I told you that the last time I drank like this, I was involved in a bar fight?" asked Luigi.

"No way! With who?"

"Captain Falcon."

Caroline gasped. "That racecar driver with the muscles?! Holy [ _bleep_ ]!"

"I won, by the way. He was too smashed to keep up." It was Luigi's turn to laugh. "Serves him right for calling me those names."

"I thought you two were friends."

"So did I. But we made up in the end. Kinda." Luigi knocked back another shot. "You—you surprise me, Caroline. The way you hacked off those mean girls' hair, I mean, that was hardcore!"

"Well, 'hardcore' is my middle name," gloated Caroline.

"Let me tell you something else," said Luigi. He was drunker than he'd ever been in his life, his cheeks were flushed and his speech was starting to slur. "I'm done. I'm done with Giulia, I'm done with the police, and I'm done with Kovacs and the prosecution! They can have their fifteen minutes of fame and not do anything about the situation! [ _Bleep_ ] 'em both!"

"Yeah," said Caroline, shakily refilling their glasses. "If they want my [ _bleep_ ] on a silver platter, then they can have it!"

"You didn't let me finish," said Luigi, raising his glass to his lips and splashing some of the sake onto his chin. "What I'm trying to say is—as of this moment, I don't give a [ _bleep_ ]! _Idon'tgivea[_ bleep _]!_ So [ _bleep_ ] Giulia, [ _bleep_ ] Kovacs and [ _bleep_ ] Quinlan and Stillman! Just [ _bleep_ ] it! [ _Bleep_ ] it, [ _bleep_ ] it, [ _bleep_ ] it!"

"[ _Bleep_ ] the police!" Caroline chimed in.

"Yeah, [ _bleep_ ] the police! Who needs them?!"

"I'll drink to that!" cackled Caroline as the two of them clinked their glasses and drained them.

The two of them filled up on wontons, chow mein and sake until management politely asked them to leave.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Luigi woke up with a mild headache and a roiling stomach, but it was nothing a cold shower and a few Mushrooms couldn't solve. As he got dressed for the day, he told himself that what he said to Caroline had been the sake talking, and nothing more. He'd make some eggplant parmigiana and bring it to Giulia. He'd say he was sorry, she'd say she was sorry too, and they'd settle things once and for all over some delicious food. He was far too busy to keep up this feud with her, and so was she.

That state of mind lasted until after breakfast. Luigi had finished his toilette and was on his way to check on the day's lineup when a Mii walked up to him.

"From Kovacs's office," said the Mii, handing Luigi an ominous-looking envelope.

It was a subpoena, compelling him to testify against Caroline!

"Mamma mia!"

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"What use am I to the case? I barely even know her!" Luigi said to Master Hand.

"My guess is that since you're in her group, they're trying to use you to prove that she was capable of lashing out," shrugged Master Hand.

"Or they knew that I wanted to testify for the defense and wanted to get their hooks in me beforehand," seethed Luigi. "This has nothing to do with building a case. This is a grudge match! I bet you that Giulia pulled some strings!"

"I heard you two got into a quarrel," said MH.

"We did. I don't know what's happening to Giulia. She was nice and sweet and had a sense of justice. And now—she's a vengeful Ice Queen. I was going to try and make things up, but I guess that's not about to happen anytime soon!"

"I'll talk to her," said MH. "I got through to Grant; maybe I'll get through to her."

"Good luck. Her mentality is 'screw the rules, I have a badge'," huffed Luigi.

"Your attitude is noticeably—different—regarding her," said MH.

"That's because I'm through with making excuses for her," shrugged Luigi. "She's acting like a child, and for the life of me, I can't stop her."

"L, I have faith that she'll pull herself together before too long," MH assured him. "Now go fight your matches and get this out of your system."

And that's exactly what Luigi did.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"Aw, don't worry about it," Caroline said to Luigi as they talked over the phone. "Just tell them the truth."

"The truth is that you were emotionally distressed when you lashed out," said Luigi.

"Kovacs doesn't see it that way. When I was on the stand, she nearly tore me apart! I think that this is nothing but a farce to put me in my place!"

"I think so, too, but I can't fight a subpoena," sighed Luigi. "Man, this is wrong. All the justice system wants to do is document things. Cross their 't's' and dot their 'I's', wrapping things into a neat little bow, and they'll destroy friendships to do so."

"Tell me about it."

"When this is over, I'm gonna write a very strongly-worded letter to the courts regarding this."

"So am I. Thanks for telling me."

"That's what friends do," said Luigi.

He hung up and raked his hand through his hair. Giulia just had to make things worse, didn't she? Why else did Kovacs put him on the witness list? A visit from her good friend, of course! Luigi shook his head and gazed out his window. He had boatloads of anger to work out, and he knew just the way he was going to do so—tonight.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Ever since Quinn had chewed him out and unceremoniously fired him, Stillman had spent his nights moping at his favorite bar and trusting a friend to drive him home. Quinn had been mum on the details, but he knew he had something to do with Caroline's interrogation. But how had she found out? He and Quinlan had turned off the microphones and surveillance monitors beforehand. They'd bribed the other unis into keeping quiet. Which left only one explanation—Caroline tattled on them.

Of course, she'd tattle on them! She'd had it in for them since their teenaged years, when Stillman and Quinlan were at Brittany's every beck and call. Such had been her feminine charm that they were willing to bend over backwards for her. After Caroline went after the snobby socialite with a pair of scissors, the two of them had run for the hills with their tails between their legs—for a girl with braces and some sogginess round the midsection, Caroline scared the Hell out of them! So, they bided their time, completed their training at the police academy and gained the money and power they needed. Then, the fate of what's-his-name labeled Caroline as the prime suspect, and that was when the idea began to grow. Originally, they'd planned to frame her for the crime, but—complications—arose when she scratched and disfigured Giulia. So, they hauled Caroline down to the station and into one of the interrogation rooms, where she was completely at their mercy.

Ah, sweet, sweet revenge!

But either Caroline or one of her friends in that support group tipped off Quinn, causing her to call Stillman and Quinlan to her office for a royal tongue-lashing before having them drummed out of the department in utter disgrace! Bye-bye pension! Bye-bye power! Once Caroline was found guilty for assaulting a police officer, Stillman was gonna call in some favors from the women's correctional facility to make sure she was the most miserable inmate in the population!

Tonight, Stillman was alone, as Quinlan had to deal with a pending divorce. He ate a large order of chili fries, washed it down with a few bottles of beer and watched a football game on the bar's flatscreen TV. Once his mind was sufficiently numbed, he handed his keys to one of his few remaining friends, who drove him to his apartment building, wished him well, handed back the keys and took a cab home.

"Rent's due in a week," the landlord warned as Quinlan trudged past his office.

Stillman acknowledged him with a grunt, proceeded to his own apartment, unlocked the door and stepped into the dark room. Rent. Now that he was out of a job, rent was going to be difficult to come by. Silently, he cursed Caroline and whoever ratted him out before slamming his door behind him and moving his hand toward the light switch.

He never reached it.

Something jabbed into his side, and his body went stiff and paralyzing pain surged through him. His mind registered a bright blue electrical pulse before it went blank.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Stillman had no idea what was happening. There was dankness around him. Coolness. The room smelled musty and old, and it was ominously silent. He tried to move but couldn't—his wrists and ankles were lashed to some sort of mattress. Turning his head, he saw his clothes in a heap on the ground. That's when he knew—he was in the clutches of someone really sick.

Steady, determined footsteps approached him.

"Who's there?" Stillman demanded. "Come out and face me, you dirty coward!"

"Dirty? Who are you calling 'dirty'?" asked a voice. "The only dirty person I see is you."

A figure materialized in the shadows.

"I admit, I'm used to being called a coward. But I don't beat up women shackled to chairs. I don't pay off my colleagues to zip their lips. And I don't blindly follow a bully around like a puppy."

Stillman began to sweat. "What are you talking about?"

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about," snapped the voice as a fist flew out of nowhere, smashing into Stillman's face. "You see, I've had my eye on you. And I will continue to have my eye on you."

"Wh-what—I…" Stillman stammered.

Another fist flew into his face. "I am talking—you are listening. And I know that you were a dirty cop. I _hate_ dirty cops."

Weight settled onto him, and the fist began punching, over and over.

"My trust in law enforcement is on thin ice, as it is. You're certainly not helping."

The fist was joined by another fist, battering and smashing away at Stillman's face. The punches were so quick and so awesome in power that he could barely breathe. He could only wait for it to be over.

And then it was. The weight slid from him, and an angular, mustachioed face came into view. Blue eyes regarded him curiously as the man knelt beside him.

"Please," whimpered Stillman. "Please, let me go."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Luigi said softly.

He raised a fiery finger and pressed it onto Stillman's chest, making him arch his back. "Like I said, I have been watching you and will continue to watch you, everywhere you go." He left burns all over Stillman's upper body. "And if I see something I don't like, then I will come after you. Got it?"

Whimpering, Stillman nodded.

"I'm sorry—am I talking to myself?" He roughly ground the finger against Stillman's package.

"Yes, yes—I got it," choked out Stillman.

"You are a piece of [ _bleep_ ], Stillman," stated Luigi. "Quit being a piece of [ _bleep_ ], Stillman!" He removed his finger from Stillman's lower extremities and stomped on the sensitive area a few times before unleashing a controlled barrage of punches to the stomach, ribcage and face. Then, he kicked him in the side until his hipbone shattered beneath his boot and briefly turned away from him.

"You idiot! You'd better let me out of here right now!" roared Stillman.

"Or what?" challenged Luigi.

He walked back toward Stillman and showed him the length of steel pipe he held in his hands.

"Wha—what are you going to do with that?" asked Stillman.

"I'm going to use it to educate you," smiled Luigi.

"N-no. No, please! You've got this all wrong!" shouted Stillman. "I never lay a finger on Caroline!"

Luigi blinked. "Caroline?"

Realizing his mistake, Stillman shook in his boots and blubbered incoherently.

"I never mentioned a name," hissed Luigi.

"It wasn't my fault!" screamed Stillman. "It wasn't my fault. She made me do it! She asked for it!"

 _Slam_. Luigi brought the pipe down hard on Stillman's body. "Don't even think about pulling that with me," he spat.

"I didn't want to!" Stillman said hoarsely. "I never wanted to hurt anyone. But—I needed the money…"

"Money?" Luigi raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying that your old friend Brittany paid you to do this to Caroline?"

"N-no, n-not her. Some giant white glove. W-with wriggling digits. H-he—he offered me $250 million for the job, and—and Quinlan wanted to help!"

Luigi hit Stillman again with the pipe. And again and again and again until his arms tired. "Did he tell you his name?"

"No, and I didn't ask! He—he has my wife, don't you understand?!"

"You don't even have a wife," said Luigi. "I already checked your file."

Stillman sobbed as Luigi rolled him onto his stomach. Then, he wiped the pipe clean and strode over to a vat of gel.

It was a wide, gleaming steel pipe with small ridges on both ends, a perfect tool for the job. Taking his time, Luigi scooped up a handful of gel and rubbed it onto one end of the pipe. "I'd deny you the lubrication, but I'm merciful enough to offer it to you." He glopped more gel on, smearing it along the inside of the pipe. Outside, then inside. Outside, then inside. Stillman heard the squishy sounds of the gel moving against Luigi's fingers, and his bladder released.

"Please," he begged. "Please, don't do that to me! I'll do anything you want!"

"It's funny you should say that," said Luigi, walking back to where Stillman lay, "because there's only one thing I want you to do—suffer."

"Oh, God! Oh, God! Please, no!" cried the trembling, disgraced former policeman.

Luigi knelt behind Stillman, grasping the pipe firmly. A moment to plan the trajectory, and then he pushed the pipe in, inch by agonizing inch. Stillman's pleas morphed into screams of agony and terror. It was like he was being stretched apart. The ridges cut into the delicate tissues and muscles, the metal cold and hard. Luigi paused for a minute and studied the blood seeping out, staining the pipe and pooling around it on the mattress. A strange smile ghosted across his face.

"Please! Take it out! I beg you!" shrieked Stillman.

"Out?" Luigi wrinkled his nose. "It's barely even in there."

He stood, walked over to the vat of gel, picked it up and carried it back to the mattress, setting it down beside him as he resumed his kneeling position. His hands dug deep into the vat, shoveling gel into the entire length of the pipe. "That should do it," he said to himself when he was finished, setting the vat aside. "Now, where were we…?"

This time, Luigi didn't inch the pipe in—he slammed it with the strength of three plumbers, pleased that the gel was doing its work. He twisted the pipe clockwise a handful of times before yanking it partially out and shoving it back in. Stillman sobbed, drooled, whimpered and wet himself as Luigi rammed the pipe in and out at a brutish pace, making sure each thrust was felt to the maximum, seeing nothing but Caroline, helpless, bound to that chair and at this man's mercy. What was going through her mind during that ordeal? Was she silently praying for someone to intervene on her behalf? These questions made Luigi angrier and angrier, causing him to tear the pipe through Stillman more fiercely than ever. At times, he'd pause, wipe his brow and catch his breath, only to start the process again after a few minutes. Over and over, harder and harder and harder until finally, his rage allayed. He dropped the pipe next to Stillman and got to his feet, tears staining his cheeks.

"I'm glad you got canned," Luigi choked out. "You don't deserve a pension or any benefits after what you did. And I hope you live a very long life, haunted in the night by the memories of your actions. I hope you outlive everyone you ever knew and loved, so that there's nobody to cry for you, nobody to pray for you and nobody to care when you die!"

Stillman moaned and turned away from Luigi. Leaning down, the plumber grabbed his jaw and forced him to look into his eyes.

"And by the way—if you tell anyone about what happened tonight, or raise your hand to another innocent citizen or make anyone even _slightly_ uncomfortable—then you're gonna regret it, big time."

Quick as a flash, Luigi ripped out Stillman's eyes, threw them across the room and walked away, leaving the scumbag bound and broken on the mattress.

 **Please read and review.**


	47. Combustion

**Combustion**

 **TW: Smut and violence**

Alexis Kovacs was really having a day.

First, she had Luigi, who she'd helped face his monsters last year, as a star witness against Caroline. Second, said witness had done everything in his power to let her know that he didn't want to be here, even after the threat of a contempt citation. And finally, when Kovacs asked him about Caroline's head-shaving rampage, which both witness and defendant had excused as "fiction" to scare off potential bullies, Luigi heaved forward and puked. All over the prosecutor.

"Maybe I was too hard on him," she mused to herself after the courtroom was cleared and she'd cleaned herself up. "Maybe this whole thing is too much for them both. Giulia's my friend, but…"

Her phone rang. "Kovacs."

"How'd it go?" asked Giulia.

"He threw up on me. The judge declared a mistrial."

"Wow. That's convenient," muttered Giulia.

"Look, Giulia—I know what she did was wrong, but this is getting pretty taxing. On Caroline, on Luigi, on me—and on you. You haven't been yourself since this business started. I think—it's time to let this go. I don't want to waste time or money on another trial."

"Is that so?"

"She seemed remorseful when I cross-examined her."

"There comes a time when we all must answer for our mistakes," said Giulia.

"I agree," sighed Kovacs. "Talk to you later, okay?"

"Wanna go out tonight? My face is almost back to normal."

Kovacs grinned. "Yeah. I'd like that."

She hung up and strode to her office.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

After Luigi had been checked out by the on-site medic, he and Caroline strolled down the courthouse steps.

"How on Earth did you manage to barf?" asked Caroline.

"Ipecac," winked Luigi. "You can thank me later."

"They're gonna try again, aren't they?"

"Maybe," shrugged Luigi. "I saw Kovacs beginning to falter, though."

"What can I say? I have a knack for cracking people's armor," smiled Caroline. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

"It was the least I could do after you offered to take the fall for me," Luigi said quietly. "Maybe they'll realize that 'I don't want to testify against my friend' means 'I don't want to testify against my friend'."

"Thank you," said Caroline, "from the bottom of my heart."

"We're not out of it yet, though," warned Luigi.

"You tried to help me," said Caroline. "You're a good man, L, and nothing will change that."

Luigi blushed.

"I'm gonna go home and relax," said Caroline.

"And I've got matches to fight and tension to let out," said Luigi. "See ya round."

They parted after exchanging a fist bump.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"I can't believe an institution I've tried so hard to trust would do that," Luigi sighed to Dr. Park. "They made me vilify my friend in open court. The thought was so appalling that I literally threw up on the stand. I wound up causing a mistrial for that."

"And—that was accidental, right?" quizzed Dr. Park.

"Right," said Luigi.

"They're gonna call you for the retrial."

"Well, by then, my nerves will be considerably steadier."

"Are you condoning Caroline for what she did?"

"I get that she attacked a peace officer, but said peace officer is overreacting," said Luigi. "I think the attack triggered something, but still…"

"This peace officer—she's one of your old friends, right?"

"Right. I tried to see about her, but she pushed me away—and she had the nerve to blame me for Caroline attacking her. She said she incited her and my fellow support group members. Can't you believe that? I mean, I went through similar trauma, but I didn't snap at others or push them away."

"There was that argument with Master Hand, where you threw the vase, along with other objects, and cursed at him."

Luigi blushed. "That's—that's different. That was a minor misunderstanding. What Giulia did…"

"Just—don't go too rough on her, all right?"

"I'm not going rough on her at all. I'm actually trying to move past the words we had. I just—I wish she'd stop antagonizing Caroline over a mere scratch."

"What would you do if you were in her position?"

"I'd want to press charges, sure. But I'd at least want the jail sentence to fit the offense. I wouldn't throw her in with the vicious lot."

"Make the punishment fit the crime. But you said yourself that jail isn't enough."

"For some of them," clarified Luigi. "In some cases, justice isn't something you receive. It's something you have to dish out."

"The people in your support group—do they agree?"

"I'm not sure. I can't read their minds."

"And—whatever happens with Caroline—don't let it destroy your friendship with Giulia," beseeched Dr. Park. "From what I hear, she's one of those who keep you down to earth."

Luigi nodded. "Thank you."

"Anytime."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

That night, Alexis and Giulia dined together at Brewster's before having some fun at Chuck E. Cheese's. Deeper into the evening, the two ladies went to a popular club where they danced for a few hours, both of them abstaining from any alcohol and downing club sodas instead. Alexis was the first to burn out, and she wished her friend well before hopping into her car and heading home.

Giulia stayed until the place closed for the night. Then, she drove straight to Bayo's place, hoping she was still awake.

She was.

She was at the door well before Giulia knocked on it, hair loose, wearing a see-through outfit. "I was wondering when you'd stop by," she said.

"Yeah—I've been busy," said Giulia.

Bayo cupped Giulia's face in her hands, kissing around the bandages which replaced the white mask. "You're beautiful, Giulia," she said soothingly.

Giulia was beside herself with relief. Bayo wasn't recoiling in horror! She still loved her! She pulled the Umbra Witch close, tears running down her face. "God bless you, Bayo," she said. "God bless you."

"You, too, Giulia." Bayo let the other woman inside and then picked her up bridal-style, carrying her to her bedroom.

"I want…" Giulia began, but was silenced with a kiss.

"I know." Bayo smiled as she laid Giulia onto the bed and undressed her slowly. She started with the shirt, sliding it up and over the policewoman's head. Her fingers danced over the straps of the bra before delicately unhooking it, watching her freed breasts practically spring to life. Bending down, Bayo worked her tongue up and down her lover's breasts and stomach, sometimes flicking it and sometimes rolling it. Giulia started to pant, reaching for her bottoms, but the Umbra Witch gently swatted her hands away, commencing to worship her upper body with greater fervor.

"Uuunh—Cereza…" moaned Giulia, her eyes roaming over Bayo's sheer outfit, her belly button visible through the fabric, as were the outlines of her nipples. She felt the jet-black hair slide over the edges of her body, the other woman now using her belly as an art canvas. Then, Bayo cupped Giulia's breasts in her hands and massaged them slowly as she kissed between them before she resumed weaving her tongue up and down and up and down and—

Giulia took shuddering breaths. "Please…"

The Umbra Witch wet her lips and blotted them everywhere on Giulia's upper body. She ghosted her fingertips over the waistline of Giulia's bottoms but made no move to discard them. She dipped her hand between the clothed thighs and felt that distinct warmth. Those pants weren't coming off for a long, long time. That would give her time to think about her little exchange with Luigi. Back she focused on breasts and belly, kissing, licking, touching.

"Oh, my God," Giulia was saying, over and over.

Bayo paused, stripped naked and then knelt between the policewoman's legs, picking up where she left off, allowing her bared mound to clash with Giulia's clothed one. Giulia was overwhelmed with sensation, flashes and sparkles appearing before her eyes. Bayo studied her before piling on more pleasure, her mouth on sensitive, sweaty, warm skin, wrapping around those domes to suckle, one at a time, grinding herself against her lover a few more times before deciding to manipulate herself instead. She wanted Giulia to know why they were playing this game, how close Luigi was to her and how she was affected by her change in tune.

Giulia's body was wracked with blissful spasms. She already knew why Bayo was doing this. Somehow, she'd learned of her heated discussion with Luigi. Combined with the fact that she could barely look Bayo in the eye when she had the mask, the Umbra Witch must've felt out of the loop. But she had to understand—Giulia had feared that Bayo would see those scratches and be repulsed by them. But she wasn't. She'd accepted them as battle wounds, knowing that gradually, they'd heal. The swelling had long since gone down, but those three little scratch marks remained as souvenirs. They weren't as bad as before, but they were still prominent. It wouldn't be long before she could easily cover them up with makeup.

"Cereza…" Giulia's breath hitched at the sight of Bayo stroking herself while still tending to her. The butterfly tattoo danced as her body pistoned, slowly at first, and then faster and faster. She'd always stop before falling overboard so she could give Giulia extra attention, savoring the sounds she made and her own writhing body. Giulia tried to relieve her unattended mound by grinding herself, but Bayo wouldn't allow it.

"Not yet," she whispered in her ear, locking lips with her and feeling their domes sliding together. They kissed till they were nearly breathless, and then Bayo slid a hand back inside herself before relentlessly dive-bombing Giulia's upper body with mouth and tongue. Giulia thrashed and moaned, which only caused the Umbra Witch to increase the intensity of her ministrations.

"Cereza—for the love of mother and child!"

Bayo's kisses and licks grew wetter and wetter, making Giulia's toes curl. The strokes of her tongue deepened and grew more eloquent, passionate. She had a lot of sexual frustration and tension to work out.

"Ohhhh—yeah…"

And then Bayo propped herself up, her breasts on Giulia's stomach, as she pumped herself faster and faster, sweating, her gaze locked on the policewoman. Giulia had never seen so much lust in a facial expression before in her life. Bayo's look smoldered into her before she leaned back down, and the dancing, flicking tongue and the blotting, sucking mouth resumed.

"Yeah—Cereza—that feels so great—I need you to—aaaahhh…"

Bayo trailed lingering kisses everywhere, leaving not a patch of skin untouched. Slowly, she eased her hand out of herself and offered it to Giulia, who eagerly licked the digits and the palm clean. She pushed her hair behind her ears, reached into her drawer and grabbed up a vibrator with a remote-controlled function. Switching the vibrator on, she lay the remote on the dresser before trailing the vibrator up and down Giulia's already-stimulated body. Her breath came out in jerky bursts and she could barely vocalize, the pleasure was so great. Then, Bayo's mouth joined the vibrator in its work, and Giulia screamed.

This went on for some time, Bayo occasionally flicking her thumb over the remote to increase the vibrations. Giulia screamed and screamed, sweating and dribbling, but her core remained unattended. Warm, moist softness and vibrations came at her from everywhere. She thought she was going to explode right in her pants.

Bayo raised her head and looked at Giulia. Her tongue slid across her lips as she studied that face, those breasts, that abdomen, that belly button.

"I'll make it up to you," Giulia managed to say. "Whatever it takes."

"I know," Bayo said softly.

Her thumb flicked over the remote.

"Promise me," she continued, "that no matter what happens, you won't shut me out. We'll deal with it together."

"Yes—I promise."

Another flick. "Promise me—that whatever you're going through, you won't ostracize those who are trying to help you. Promise me—that you won't lash out at them. You have to let them come in—otherwise you'll never deal. Promise me."

"I promise." Giulia arched her back.

"You know what you'll have to do, right?" The thumb flicked again.

"Yes—I know…"

"Your showing up here tonight is a good start," mused Bayo, ministering to Giulia's upper body one last time before _finally_ slipping off her pants and panties. She ran the vibrator along the glistening folds before inserting it into her throbbing, swollen core.

Giulia gasped.

Slowly, gently, Bayo thrust the vibrator in and out till her arm grew tired. Then, she turned it up to its second-highest setting and slid herself onto the other end. Endless vibration filled them both as they moved together in the moonlight.

 **Time, is going by, so much faster than I,  
And I'm starting to regret not spending all of it with you.  
Now I'm, wondering why, I've kept this bottled inside,  
So I'm starting to regret not telling all of it to you.  
So if I haven't yet, I've gotta let you know**

 **You're never gonna be alone!  
From this moment on, if you ever feel like letting go,  
I won't let you fall,  
You're never gonna be alone!  
I'll hold you 'till the hurt is gone.**

 **And now, as long as I can, I'm holding on with both hands,  
Cause forever I believe that there's nothing I could need but you,  
So if I haven't yet, I've gotta let you know**

 **You're never gonna be alone!  
From this moment on, if you ever feel like letting go,  
I won't let you fall,  
When all hope is gone  
I know that you can carry on  
We're gonna take the world on  
I'll hold you 'till the hurt is gone**

 **Oh,  
You've gotta live every single day,  
Like it's the only one, what if tomorrow never comes?  
Don't let it slip away,  
Could be our only one, you know it's only just begun  
Every single day,  
May be our only one, what if tomorrow never comes?  
Tomorrow never comes**

 **Time, is going by, so much faster than I,  
And I'm starting to regret not telling all of this to you.**

 **You're never gonna be alone!  
From this moment on, if you ever feel like letting go,  
I won't let you fall,  
When all hope is gone  
I know that you can carry on  
We're gonna take the world on  
I'll hold you 'till the hurt is gone**

 **I'm gonna be there all the way,  
I won't be missing one more day,  
I'm gonna be there always,  
I won't be missing one more day.**

Neither woman tried to keep the noise down as they physically reconnected, thrusting and grinding into each other as the hours went by, squirting and saturating the vibrator with their juices until the battery ran out. Bayo simply tossed it aside before burying her head between Giulia's legs, giving her core the same treatment she'd given the rest of her body, bringing her to one screaming finish after another until the last of their tension had been burned off.

"I love you, Giulia," Bayo said as they lay together.

"I love you, too, Cereza. I'd be sailing on an endless sea without you."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

The next morning, Luigi was awakened by a knock on his door. Quickly, he smoothed his sleep-disheveled hair and answered it.

A Mii stood there, holding several plastic bags. "I've got a delivery for Luigi Mario," he said.

Luigi frowned. "I didn't order anything."

"An off-duty policewoman told me to give this to you. I think her name is Giulia or something."

Luigi took the bags, inhaling the scent of breakfast food. "Chocolate-chip pancakes, cheesy omelet, croissant. Perfect. All that's missing is the…"

"Caramel cappuccino and a medium yogurt parfait," finished the Mii, holding out a carboard cup holder. "And…" He set down a PetCo bag.

"I was just about to restock on doggy treats," mused Luigi. He flipped the Mii a few coins. "Tell her I said thanks."

"You got it," smiled the Mii before he left.

Moments later, Luigi sat up in bed, watching TV and eating his breakfast as his Polterpup enjoyed his dog food. Bayo must've talked some sense into Giulia last night. Or perhaps she had a little epiphany. Whatever the reason, she was finally clawing herself out of the funk she'd been in. Buying him food wouldn't erase what went down, but it was a darn good start. He reminded himself to do something nice for her sometime.

He'd just finished when his phone chimed an incoming text. It was an audio file from Giulia. She'd sent him her workout and motivational playlists. _Listen before your matches this morning_ , read the text.

 _I will. Thank you._ Luigi texted back.

He cleaned up his trash, went to the Training Room, plugged in his phone and set the motivational playlist to shuffle. It really helped as he warmed up for the morning bouts. Wow, Giulia was serious about this. She wasn't sending him petty gifts like everyone else. She was giving him things he actually needed and wanted.

And as he stepped out onto the battlefield for his first bout of the day, he saw her, seated three rows back, snacking on a Cinnabon and watching with bright eyes. He smiled and waved at her, and she grinned like a fool in response.

Giulia was there to see all of his matches that day, cheering as if for the New York Giants, eating hot dogs or popcorn or Cracker Jacks or Value Meals. Luigi could hardly see the scratches which once adorned her face. She was back to the Giulia he'd always known, welcoming and sunny and optimistic and with a good sense of justice. Seeing him barf on the witness stand must've been a revelation for her.

Of course, he couldn't make things _too_ easy. He wanted her to know that he was offering her a second chance, a luxury which many an offender had rarely been afforded. So, when she came to him after a match, gushing about how incredible he was, he kept his responses laconic and to the point.

That afternoon, he was revving up for his final bouts for the day when his phone rang.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Hi, Luigi?"

"Speaking. Who is this?"

"Smashville Vacuum Repair."

"I don't need a vacuum repair—wait. Are you talking about…?"

"A Mii from the Smash Mansion came in earlier and dropped off a weird-looking vacuum. It was red and had back straps and a flashlight."

"It _was_ acting a little off the last time I used it."

"No worries. It just needs to be cleaned and oiled—and it appears a screw is loose. We'll have it ready for you in about two hours."

"I can pay you guys now if you'd like."

"That's okay. A friend of yours took care of it. An off-duty policewoman."

"I know who you're talking about. Send my thanks."

"Will do."

Luigi hung up, hoping that the repair shop knew that the vacuum they were repairing was in fact used to suck up spooks.

Finally, before dinner that evening, a Mii brought Luigi's repaired ghost vacuum to his room, along with a tub of his favorite gelato.

"Let me guess, the gelato is also from Giulia?"

"Yup," the Mii replied. "Enjoy."

Smiling, Luigi put the gelato into his mini-freezer and headed off to the cafeteria.

She called him late that night, when he was relaxing with his gelato and a good movie on TV.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"A little better, thanks to you," said Luigi.

"Who else gets to say they've been pampered by a police officer? Which actually reminds me, I booked you for a spa day tomorrow."

"To what do I owe this special treatment?" Luigi asked slyly.

"Do I really need a reason to splurge on a good friend?"

"Judging by the last time we talked—yes."

Silence.

"Giulia? Are you still there?"

"Uh—yeah. My mind's just been all over the place after Caroline scratched me."

"Yeah. I noticed that."

"But when I saw you on the witness stand, something clicked it back into place."

"It was really that simple."

"I guess."

"Does this mean your friend Kovacs won't retry her?"

Giulia laughed. "Don't push your luck. She still committed a crime."

"And I was the inspiration behind it." The words were clipped. "I'm surprised I'm not on trial alongside her."

He heard the uncomfortable clearing of a throat. As far as he was concerned, that was for the best.

"I—wasn't myself when I said that. Like I said, my mind was everywhere."

"So was Caroline's, presumably."

"The board's making its decision tomorrow, in case you're interested. Ah—listen, L. What I said that day was wrong."

"Yes, it was."

"I want you to know—that I didn't mean it. Not a syllable. I don't know what made me say that."

"Funny. That's what they all say."

"I was a bit of an idiot, and I hope we can put this behind us and move forward."

"You were more than an idiot, and you know it."

"All I can say, L, is that I'm gonna find a way to make this right. I don't care what I have to do. I _will_ find a way to rectify things between us."

"Just make sure not to leave Caroline out of the equation, yes?"

"Of course." A sigh. "I know I have a long road ahead of me concerning you two."

"That's right. You do. Now get some rest. You have a big day tomorrow. Bye, Giulia."

"Bye, L."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 _ **The next afternoon…**_

"After much deliberation, this board finds that the discharge of your Taser was justifiable as an act of self-defense, and that you took the necessary steps to protect yourself and your fellow officers."

Giulia stood there, eyes filling with tears as the board announced their decision.

"Furthermore, it is our opinion that you should be commended for your handling of a tense situation. If not for your efforts, it would have escalated into a tragedy. You may come forward."

Giulia did as she was told. Her service weapon, her Taser and her shield were returned to her.

"Thank you," she said. "Thank you all."

Smartly, she strode out of the room, feeling vindicated. She exited the building into moderate rainfall. A peal of laughter burst from her lips, and she kicked off her shoes, her dignified walk becoming a run through the rain soaked streets. As she ran, she shrugged out of the blazer of her dress blues and practically tore off her blouse. Then, she stumbled to a halt and fell to her knees, arms spread wide, face to the sky, eyes closed, savoring the cool rain on her skin, laughing like an idiot. She'd done it. She'd freaking done it. They tried to paint her as badge-heavy, but they were wrong. She was squeaky-clean and ready to go back to work. Passersby exchanged glances as they stared at this woman, topless and kneeling in the rain, laughing as if it was all a big joke.

 _It's over_ , she thought to herself. _It's finally over. Thank you, God. Thank you_.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Five weeks went by without incident. Giulia was warmly welcomed back by her colleagues and brought up to speed on the fates of Stillman and Quinlan. Kovacs decided that the case against Caroline wasn't worth her time and dismissed the charges against her. Upon Giulia's return to the support group, she knew she faced an uphill battle in getting her relationships back to the way they were. Caroline and Luigi would ceaselessly remind her of that little fact, and they had every right to, because she really screwed things up. The policewoman brought in Miis to renovate Caroline's apartment and arranged to have her pampered at salons galore. She anonymously donated money to her college's research projects. When Caroline flunked an exam, Giulia brought her a personal tutor. She continued to send both of them gifts, money and the like. She dragged herself out of bed to spectate Luigi's matches, and when she couldn't—she streamed them on her laptop during her breaks at the station. The two of them smiled and thanked her very much for the favors she did for them, keeping their conversations as brief as possible. They'd agreed to let the matter slide, and nothing else.

Then, Luigi was thrown another curveball. He rode his motorcycle to Leni's place to find U-Haul trucks parked outside and what looked like a yard sale going on.

Leni greeted him, a hand over her swollen belly. "Hey! I was just about to tell you!" she said.

"What happened?" he asked.

"I tried as hard as I could—but the fact of the matter is, this house is a constant reminder of Grant. It's just not the same without him here. I want a new start for my kids, and for my new daughter."

"Have you thought of a name yet?"

Leni smiled. "Myra—after her late grandmother."

"Myra," repeated Luigi.

"Myra Cordelia."

"Wow," breathed Luigi. "I'm really gonna miss you."

"L—we'll just be a Warp Pipe away," Leni assured him, "and once we're situated, we'll visit from time to time."

"I'd like that," said Luigi.

"Grant moved us here to escape from the people harassing him," said Leni. "That—didn't pan out too well."

"Yeah," sighed Luigi. "I'll write to you guys."

Leni beamed. "That would be great."

"How are the kids taking the news?"

"The usual way. The anxiety over a new school, new friends…"

"Tell them to think of me at night," said Luigi, "and how I got through what I got through."

Then, after obtaining permission, he placed a gloved hand over Leni's belly. "Everything's gonna be all right, Myra," he promised. "You're gonna have an amazing family."

Myra kicked in response.

Just then, the border collie trotted over and jumped into Luigi's arms. Luigi chuckled and ruffled Spirit's fur, earning a hearty lick on the cheek.

Leni flushed. "I—uh—I meant to give you Spirit, but—I just can't seem to give him up."

"That's okay," said Luigi as he buried his face into Spirit's soft fur. "Grant would've wanted you to have him."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

The day came too soon for Luigi. Leni had packed everything up and sold the house to a young, newlywed couple. As soon as the U-Haul was hitched up to her minivan, the pregnant widow phoned Luigi. He drove over and said his goodbyes to the four of them. First to Leni, hugging her and thanking her for being so strong, giving her a bottle of baby body wash. Next, there was Nora, assuring her that she was going to be a great big sis with Myra. Then, he hugged Alex, who promised that he'd give Myra nothing but affection. Then, Shelia, giving her a daisy pendant as a parting gift. And finally, Danny, beseeching him to tell others how he survived the bully attack that landed him in the hospital, so that they'd be inspired. Kneeling down, he cooed to Myra that she should fuss as much as possible when she was born, as a way of reminding her mom why she was conceived.

"Coming into our lives was the best thing that ever happened to us," Leni said tearfully.

"Ditto," said Luigi, just as tearfully.

"Write to us. Visit."

"I will. I promise you, I will."

Leni, the kids, and Spirit (after giving Luigi a final doggie kiss) hopped into the minivan and drove away, toward their new life. Luigi waved after them and didn't stop waving till the minivan and the U-Haul disappeared from sight.

And then he wept.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Luigi didn't go on his hunt that night, or the night after that. He needed to rest and recuperate from what had transpired so far. The business with Giulia and Caroline. The births of Liam and Leia. Leni and her family moving away. He also needed to think. The incident with Durden had been a close call. How could he prevent such a thing from happening again?

Stillman had been easy, but from what he'd heard, Quinlan was a sly one. The supposedly soft-spoken guy was the most dangerous of the two. He'd thought Stillman had been the brains behind what happened with Caroline, but it was actually Quinlan. He'd followed the paper trail to discover that it was Quinlan who'd suggested going to Crazy Hand for protection. If Luigi played his cards right, then he could—convince—Quinlan to lead him to the disgraced Hand of Destruction. Which occurred—where was security when that glove escaped the Minus World?

He'd tackle that issue later. Right now, he had to take care of Quinlan. With a little help from Val and Evelyn, he discovered that Quinlan was now a bouncer at some sleazy nightclub. After his shift, Luigi would be waiting for him. He wouldn't know what was coming.

If things worked out the way he wanted them to.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

It was just after 2a.m. when Ronald Quinlan's shift at that dump of a nightclub ended. It had been the usual affair, the occasional drunk, ogler and groper—but nothing like the job he used to hold. Serving and protecting the fine citizens of Smashville, enjoying free coffee and donuts in the morning, cruising around in a police car and playing the role of "Officer Friendly" at the many elementary schools scattered in the area. But then, Caroline waltzed back into his life.

He'd supplied the idea. Crazy Hand's bribe had only made it sweeter. But the scheme quickly fell apart. She must've recognized him and Stillman and told the captain. Or a friend of hers had told the captain. Either way, she'd unceremoniously relieved them of duty after tearing them a new butthole. Stillman was somewhere feeling sorry for himself (or so he thought), while he, by some manner of fate, found this job in the want ad. The pay was—okay—but it wasn't the same as carrying a badge.

But it was time to stop thinking in the past. At least here, the boss didn't mind if he got too—enthusiastic—with those causing a disturbance. In fact, the more enthusiastic, the better. It would discourage the patrons from pulling such stunts, anyway.

Quinlan was making his way to the subway station, when a punch sent him stumbling into a wall.

"What the…?"

Two more punches met him, causing him to sag against the wall. Before he could re-orient himself, a flurry of punches and kicks assailed his body. Then, he saw a flash of green as an uppercut plowed into his face.

He was on the ground, bleeding heavily. Footsteps approached him. Reflexes and training snapped into action, and he kicked. Hard. There was a grunt of surprise and a thud. Now on his feet, Quinlan went at his attacker, smashing his large, strong fists into his jaw, his face, his torso, his stomach. Everywhere. He kicked him over and over as he tried to get up, eventually giving up and laying limp on the pavement.

Quinlan knelt over the downed assailant. "You made a grave mistake, my friend," he said calmly.

Swiftly, the attacker rammed his fingers into Quinlan's eyes. Screaming and clutching his face, the bouncer fell back. Then, a painful jolt of electricity entered his body, causing the strength to leave his limbs for a few moments. But Quinlan's sight returned, and he tripped the figure as he tried to flee.

Fumbling. Quinlan saw a flash of a cell phone and took care of that problem by stomping on the hand that held it. The attacker screamed, and Quinlan ground his shoe deeper into the hand. Then, just for kicks, he stepped on the other hand. He flipped the assailant onto his back and got astride him, glaring into a pair of defiant blue eyes.

"Who are you?" Quinlan demanded.

"I am every 'geek', 'nerd', 'metal-mouth' and 'whale' you bullied in high school," spat the attacker. "I am every suspect you got badge-heavy with on the force."

Quinlan paled. "How did you know that?" he barked.

The interloper grinned. " _You'd_ like to know."

Boiling with anger over this wimp striking fear into his heard, Quinlan cracked his knuckles and sadistically beat him, landing awesome, terrible blows to his angular face and chest. The man beneath him kicked and scratched and landed blows of his own, but Quinlan was too fast. Too strong. He'd underestimated him.

When Quinlan was finished punching his attacker, he dragged him to his feet and pinned him against the wall, lighting into his abdomen with savage blows until he could barely stand up straight, and then putting him into an armlock.

"What do you want from me?" he hissed.

The attacker laughed. "Remember Caroline? The young woman you and your partner demonstrated your authority to in an interrogation room? The teen you mercilessly bullied alongside Brittany, the queen bee?"

Once again, terror struck him, causing his grip on the man's arm to slacken. "Wh—what does that matter to you anyway?" he stammered.

" _Everything_!" screamed the attacker, sending an elbow into Quinlan's face, knocking him on his behind.

The assailant kicked Quinlan square in the face twice and then a few times in the groin. Then, he once again set upon the bouncer with his fists and bent both of his arms awkwardly until he heard popping and snapping.

"Oh, my God!" howled Quinlan.

Luigi got to his feet, calmly wiping some blood from his mouth. He was in all-over pain and covered in bruises, but alive. Grabbing a tire iron, he broke Quinlan's legs with cold, calculating precision.

"You fought well, Quinlan," he said, "but to no avail. It's _you_ who made the mistake. You've bullied and intimidated for the last time."

He burned off Quinlan's clothes, tied his hands and feet and dragged him away from prying eyes.

"Recognize this?" he asked, holding up a recording device. "Caroline wasn't as helpless in there as you thought she was. She had this on her person that day. And this snap—is not a snap. It's a wide-angle fiber-optic lens."

He set down the device in front of Quinlan and turned it on, playing the video of what he and Stillman did to Caroline. Revolted, he turned away.

Luigi punched him. "Oh, no, no. You're going to watch this in its entirety. I thought you were just gonna make a big show of your authority, seeing that she attacked your sister in blue and all. But I misjudged just how twisted you are. Okay, here's what's gonna happen…"

The man in green took a brass plug and jammed it deep into Quinlan, who screamed.

"Pay attention. Look at me!" Luigi slammed Quinlan's face into the floor repeatedly. "Look. At. Me." He continued slamming until Quinlan obeyed.

"Once you can sit again, which will be a while, I admit, I'm going to give you some paper and a pen, and then you will write two letters of apology. One will be to Caroline, and the other will be to your former colleagues at the Smashville Police Department. Nod."

Quinlan nodded.

Luigi began moving the plug in and out. "You will then go to your place of employment and tell your boss that you quit. Nod."

Quinlan nodded.

"After that, you will never harass or contact Caroline again. You will make a statement to the press confessing everything you helped Brittany do to her. And you will check yourself into an anger-management program. Nod."

Quinlan nodded.

"If none of this is accomplished within 48 hours, then this video will spread across the Internet like a virus. Nod."

Quinlan nodded.

"And if something happens to me—if I'm involved in a nasty 'accident'—if I meet my demise under fishy circumstances—then this will be uploaded by my estate. Nod that you understand."

Quinlan did as he was told.

Luigi briefly stepped away from Quinlan and rifled through his pants. "Ooh—Banana Republic. I'm copying the keys to your apartment, because I'll be checking on you. And if I find any of your old high school buddies in there with you, reminiscing about the good old days and how you made poor Caroline miserable…"

Quinlan groaned and nodded toward the video.

"No, not the video," snapped Luigi, kicking the plug in deeper. "You're a dead man. Do you doubt anything I've said? Do I look like I'm bluffing?"

Quinlan shook his head "no".

"Good. I'm glad we understand each other," smiled Luigi. He grasped the plug once more and manipulated it, almost gently. "I know it won't be easy for you to comply with what I ask." He manipulated the plug more violently. "So, I'm going to help you." His motions became vicious and angry. On one thrust, he twisted the plug until Quinlan arched his back, and then brandished a tattoo machine.

"Now, hold still," he commanded. "I've never done this before, and it will be messy. And FYI—this is gonna hurt. A lot."

Luigi shoved a page from Caroline's yearbook into Quinlan's mouth and went to work, making the experience as painful as possible as he embedded the message I AM A BULLY EX-COP into his upper body. When he was finished, he yanked out the plug and dropped it next to the still-playing video.

"Oh, we're not done yet," he said, showing Quinlan a bigger, thicker plug. It was obviously too huge for the bouncer, but Luigi could care less. He slammed it in and pumped away, showing no mercy. And at the same time, he forced Quinlan to watch the footage of his crime again and again, yelling and burning him whenever he closed his eyes or averted his gaze. Quinlan's muffled cries were unheard and/or unheeded as Luigi gave him what he deserved. The plugs kept getting bigger and bigger until there was no area on Quinlan where he wasn't in excruciating agony. Still, Luigi kept going.

Eventually, Ronald Quinlan passed out.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Giulia stood at the bus stop, on her way to Bayo's after working late. She heard someone approaching, turned and saw him, cradling his stomach, limping toward her. His face was badly beaten and bruised, and Giulia could see the pain in his eyes. Her legs propelled her forward in time to catch him when his knees buckled.

"Luigi!" she cried, carrying him to the safety of the bus stop. "What happened to you?"

"The strangest thing," mumbled Luigi before he lost consciousness.

Without a minute to waste, Giulia pulled out her walkie-talkie and snapped it on. "I need a bus!" she cried. Cradling the plumber in her arms, she assured him, "Don't worry—I'm gonna help you through this."

 **Please review.**


	48. Interlude: Waiting

**Waiting**

 ** _Giulia's POV_**

 **I never leave Luigi's side. Kneeling on the cold pavement, I keep his head on my lap, taking stock of the injuries he's sustained and careful not to exacerbate them. God, there's so much blood. Blood from his nose. Blood from his mouth. I position his head so that he won't aspirate on the crimson liquid. I use my jacket to staunch the blood flow as best as I can. He moans, and his eyelids flutter, assuring me that he's still there. Still there. He regains consciousness for a few moments, looking at me with those blue eyes, before slipping away. He looks—weak. I imagine him stumbling down these darkened streets, hurt and exhausted and alone and scared and—God, if I hadn't been there—no, stop. There's no time for that. Where the heck is that bus?!**

 **Sirens and flashing lights. Thank God, thank God! The ambulance screeches to a halt and EMTs pile out, swarming us. I rattle out Luigi's injuries as they load him onto a stretcher. This is deja-vu. I remember doing this with Grant that fateful night. Then, I force myself out of my flashback and climb into the ambulance with Luigi. I hold his hand during the ride to the hospital. He's conscious and responding to the EMTs' queries.**

 **"I was walking home—big guy—jumped me—beat the holy heck out of me—I subdued him—got away…"**

 **"Did you get a good look at him?" I ask.**

 **"I know him. He's—Ronald—Quin—lan…" He's sinking back into the void, I know it.**

 **Ronald Quinlan, recently fired from the SPD for excessive force. He said that he did it in my defense, but what's that for an excuse? Caroline didn't deserve to be thrashed like that! I realize that she, like me, had been triggered during that heated moment. I'd put emotion before reason when I insisted that she be brought to trial. How I'll make it up to her, I'll never know. But we're off topic here.**

 **"L—stay with me," I tell him, squeezing his hand. "Can we notify anyone for you? Family?"**

 **"Giulia—it hurts…"**

 **"It's gonna be okay. I got you," I say softly.**

 **"Giulia—I'm sorry…"**

 **"Hey. This isn't your fault."**

 **"No—not about this—about—what happened—between us…"**

 **"Oh, L…" I smooth his hair. "I'm sorry, too. I was such an idiot. Blind—to what I have. So caught up in the past that I…" I trail off. "The SPD is my greatest adventure, and I almost missed it. So help me God, I will fix what I have broken."**

 **"You—already did," whispers Luigi, patting my cheek. "You may not have saved Grant, but you did what you could, and I accept that."**

 **An EMT places an oxygen mask over Luigi's face. "Just relax and stay quiet, sir."**

 **He does. We arrive at the hospital shortly thereafter. I watch as the EMTs whisk Luigi out of the ambulance and into the ER.**

 **"Thank you, Officer. You did good. We'll take it from here," says the lead EMT.**

 **The ER doors slam shut, leaving me in the waiting room, in a partially stupefied state. I sink into the nearest chair, take out my cross and begin to pray.**

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 _ **Dr. Mario's POV**_

 **It's as if I'm in a dream. I stand with a team of nurses as the EMTs rush Luigi in on the double. He's beaten, bloody and bruised, eyes watery from the pain, moaning softly through the oxygen mask. They've cut off his clothes, and I nearly gasp with horror at what I see—the macabre artwork of purple and black from his chest to his hips. Whoever he ran afoul of obviously didn't like him.**

 **"Male, Caucasian, early-to-mid-thirties," says the lead EMT. "Trauma and contusions to the face, chest and abdomen. Broken ribs. Possible jaw fracture. Pulse and BP steady. Lost consciousness several times in transit, but presently fully conscious and responding. Sir, Dr. Mario's gonna take care of you, okay?"**

 **Luigi nods.**

 **"All right, team," I say. "Let's get to work."**

 **We hook him up to an IV drip and tend to his injuries, cleansing the blood from his face and performing CT scans to check for possible head injuries. No concussions present. We scan his trunk and find the broken ribs; we set them. The jaw fracture is not serious—it will heal in no time. We put bandages on his swollen mess of a nose. When I hear him call weakly for his brother, I know this is serious. But I stuff my emotions into the back of my mind and maintain my professionalism. This is any patient. I can do this.**

 **We're able to fix the worst of the damage, and we give him some morphine to ease the pain. We list his condition as serious, but not critical. He's going to be okay. The detached doctor gives way to relief for a friend's well-being. He's going to recover. Probably due to those mushrooms he eats.**

 **Luigi is going to be okay. He's going to make it out of this hospital bed and walk and fight in matches again. He's going to be okay.**

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 _ **Mario's POV**_

 **I fling open the doors of the emergency room, the odor of antiseptic greeting my nostrils. The doctors and nurses in scrubs stand out in sharp relief against the white lights as I fight my way through the commotion.**

 **And there I find who I'm looking for—my baby bro. On a stretcher. Beaten nearly to a pulp, an oxygen mask over his battered face. My quick feet catch up to the EMTs wheeling him in.**

 **I shout his name, getting the EMTs' attention. Two of them try to hold be back, the nerve of them. "Please! He's my brother!" I yell at them.**

 **His eyes focus, and he mumbles my name.**

 **"I'm right here, L," I gasp, close to tears.**

 **"It hurts…"**

 _ **Dio**_ **. It breaks me up to hear him say that. I want to grab him in my arms and hold him, but the EMTs have a job to do.**

 **"What happened to him?" I demand. "Is he gonna be okay?"**

 **"He's gonna be just fine," the EMT says reassuringly.**

 **"Sir, we're gonna need you to step outside. Dr. Mario will notify you of any updates," says another.**

 **I stumble into the waiting room, where Giulia is seated, eyes closed, clutching her cross. Footsteps signal the arrival of my fellow Smashers. They're followed by a phalanx of Sarasaland guards escorting Daisy.**

 **"Who would want to do this to him?" I ask as Peach gathers me in strong arms. I'm sobbing into her bosom. "Who would want to do this to him?"**

 **The waiting room is full to bursting with souls. Souls waiting for news, for a shred of hope, for an explanation for this whole mess.**

 **Waiting for Luigi to get better.**

* * *

 **Please review.**


	49. All Fall Down

**All Fall Down**

 **Strong trigger: Suicide, blood and disturbing imagery**

It was touch-and-go for Luigi over the next few days. Most of the time, he was doped up on morphine. When visitors were allowed into his room, they were warned not to agitate him too much. Which meant that Giulia couldn't take a statement from him until he was at least off the morphine.

Quinlan had proved to be difficult. He'd fought hard—harder than the other bullies he'd confronted. Still, he got him! A smile was on his face as he remembered how Quinlan whimpered, the shame in his eyes as he was forced to watch the video Caroline had secretly recorded and how he'd quickly agreed to Luigi's demands in a desperate bid for mercy. Thanks to those plugs, he wouldn't be able to walk normally for a while. And that tattoo on his chest—man! He read _The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo_ and watched both its film adaptations, and he figured he just _had_ to try it! It didn't disappoint.

Bit by bit, the pain abated, the morphine dosages lessened and Luigi became less lethargic. His condition was upgraded from serious to stable. Before long, Luigi was out of the hospital bed and walking around, watching TV and reading magazines. The gauze and bandages on his jaw were removed, and his ribs had mostly healed. Only the bruising remained, and it didn't bother the plumber much. Three days later, Luigi was finally discharged from the hospital and promptly summoned to the police station to make his statement.

"I was walking back to the Smash Mansion—normal day, normal life," said Luigi. "Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone. It was Quinlan. He tried to grab me, I dodged out of the way and Tasered him. As I tried to flee, he tripped me, got on top of me and started punching me. I fought. I fought as hard as I could, as long as I could. I managed to leave as much bruises on him as he did on me. After what seemed like forever, I managed to kick him off me, elbowed him in the face and ran."

"Did he say anything to you?" asked Giulia.

"Just that I messed with the wrong person. He must've figured out that it was me who told Quinn about him and Stillman."

"Huh—it's funny you should say that, because Stillman was found by his landlord shortly before you were attacked," Giulia said smartly. "He was beaten, and—there was also a pipe involved."

"Can't say I feel sorry for him," said Luigi, "not after what he did to Caroline."

"Ah, L—that's not something you should say in such a situation," cautioned Giulia. "It could land you with some—unwanted attention."

"What does this have to do with Quinlan attacking me?" asked Luigi.

"Something in your statement—just doesn't add up," said Caroline. "Like the condition in which we found your supposed attacker. You look mildly dinged up compared to what happened to him."

"I subdued him. I survived."

"You have a crazy idea of subduing people, that's for sure," shrugged Giulia. "I'm not even gonna tell you what we found down below. And I seem to recall that happened to Durden when he supposedly attacked you."

"That was Donald," said Luigi.

"Yes, I remember that, too. That was truly a remarkable coincidence."

"It was."

"Did I mention Quinlan was bound?"

"He could've gotten back up and—ended my game."

"And a page from his high school yearbook was in his mouth. That same yearbook was found in your belongings."

Luigi bristled. "Who told you that you could rummage through my stuff?"

"Standard procedure. And you know what else we found? All sorts of goodies, like photos, a baseball bat, pliers, a gardening stake, a sledgehammer—do you really need all of that for self-defense?"

Luigi shrugged. "Maybe."

"You want to know what I think, L? I think it's time for you to stop with the lies and tell us what's really going on. Because we've got you nailed to the wall."

"Nailed? Quinlan deserved it, didn't he?"

"It's up to twelve of his peers and a fair trial to determine with he deserves, Luigi."

"Giulia—he brutally attacked me! If I hadn't done what I did, then I wouldn't still be here!"

"When he was subdued—perhaps tied up an in no position to harm you anymore, you could've stopped there," reasoned Giulia.

"I was in fight-or-flight mode. And it all happened so fast."

Giulia's face softened, and she switched to another tactic. "Look, L—I know why you did it, all right? And I know why you had to go after the others. They're very bad people. They went after Grant—and the other friends you've made—just for the fun of it."

"How can you be so sure that it's me?"

"Why else do you keep a list of names? What do they stand for?"

"Sinners," said Luigi.

"And sinners need to be punished, right?"

"Yeah, and also, I'm keeping that list for someone else."

"Who? L—you've got to tell us everything. I'll understand, and so will Kovacs. Work with us, and you might not even see jail time."

Luigi bit his lip and looked down.

"Luigi—I've seen things that you couldn't imagine. I've encountered people who I've considered demons in the flesh. Not a day goes by when I'm reminded of what had been done to me, to Bella. I've had time to think, L, and I wish there was more we could do regarding your case, Daisy's case, Caroline's case and Grant's case—the cases of those in your support group."

"So do I."

"I do my duties calmly and professionally. I suppress my emotions when the need arises. But the scum I encounter fills me with such _rage_. I still think about hunting down Bella's old bullies and shoving a sledgehammer or a pipe or a plug or whatever in them, to put them in constant agony. But I can't. Vigilantism won't solve anything. It won't bring Bella back, and it won't bring Grant back. They meant the world to us, but I don't think they would've wanted us to live for one second with revenge in our hearts. It's like a poison. It can take us over, and if we don't fight it—it can turn us into someone uglier than the people we're pursuing. Luigi, I'm asking you—as a friend—to let it go. These people will be dealt with in the next world. Their misdeed will be laid bare during the Second Coming. They will be sealed away in fire and sulfur. But right now, you need to find peace with what has happened."

"I still think I could've saved him," mused Luigi.

"I still think I could've gotten to Bella on time," said Giulia, "but I'm putting the guilt behind me and moving on with my life. I met someone and fell in love. And you still have people who care about you. You should let them come in, let them help you through this. I'm sorry about the way I acted with Caroline, I truly am, but I wanna make it up to you. I wanna rectify certain inequities. But I can't do that unless you're honest with me. Please, tell me—what really happened that night?"

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Giulia stepped out of the office with Luigi and paused. There stood Mario, Peach, Daisy, Val, Evelyn, Mandy and Evan, accompanied by Smashers and Toads.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"What's going on here?" Mario demanded. "He's the victim. Why are you treating him like this?"

"We're keeping him as a person of interest in an ongoing investigation," explained Giulia. "He just asked to call his lawyer, so I'm taking him to the phone booths."

"Person of interest?" repeated Daisy.

"Just a small matter of a bunch of bullies getting a healthy dose of karma," shrugged Luigi.

In an instant, the Smashers put two and two together.

"Oh, Luigi…" began Evan.

"Hey, Giuliaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" boomed a woman's voice.

They all turned to see Caroline staggering in, covered in blood.

"It was me," she said. "It was all me!"

"Caroline!" screamed Luigi, breaking free of Giulia and rushing over to help.

Arms outstretched, Caroline fell to her knees, revealing two deep, bloody gashes in her stomach. Two long cuts were also on each arm, from wrist to elbow. The blood was rushing out in fountains.

"Somebody call a bus!" shouted Giulia, also sprinting over. "Luigi, get towels!"

"I'm on it!" said Luigi, racing toward the men's room.

Dr. Mario knelt beside Caroline, armed with gauze and stitching materials. Looking at her wounds, he knew there was no hope, but he wasn't about to let Death win so easily.

"Caroline—what did you do?" Giulia demanded of the injured woman.

"Luigi is innocent," Caroline said hoarsely, blood pouring from her mouth. "I'm the one you want. I did it. I hurt those people. I wanted to make them pay—for what they did…"

Luigi returned with the towels. He, Giulia, Dr. Mario, Quinn and a few other officers and Smashers assisted in trying to stabilize Caroline. But it was no use. Caroline had made sure to sever some major arteries.

"Tell the others—I'm sorry…" gurgled Caroline.

"Oh, _Dio_. Caroline," gasped Luigi.

"Your life—is still worth living. But I—have nothing—to live for…"

"Yes, you do! Life is always worth living!" cried Mandy.

"No—you don't understand. I got a letter—I'm ruined…"

"Caroline, you've got to hold on," pleaded Giulia. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, but I am now. Didn't you hear? The charges against you were dropped. You're free."

"I am now, officer. I am now. You'll [ _hic_ ] thank me later…"

"What are you talking about?" Luigi wanted to know.

"L—it's been an honor—calling you my friend," murmured Caroline, grasping Luigi's hand with her last ounce of strength. "Commend me now—to my Heavenly Father. Goodbye, Luigi. Goodbye…"

With a final smile, Caroline breathed her last.

Luigi removed his cap and held it over his heart as Dr. Mario reluctantly called the time of death. Giulia, Quinn and Val crossed themselves while Evelyn breathed a Hail Mary. Mandy and Evan shielded their babies from the horrible sight as Peach and Zelda hastened Ness, Lucas, Toon Link and the Villagers away. Mario helped Luigi up and gently steered him away as the coroner arrived on the scene.

"Wait—she said something about a letter," said Lucina.

Giulia saw a white envelope sticking out of Caroline's purse and carefully removed it. "It's from her school," she said.

Quinn took the envelope and opened it, pulling out the piece of paper inside. "My God," she moaned.

"What?" asked Ryu.

"It's a letter of dismissal."

Silence in the room.

"B-but the charges were dismissed," stuttered Luigi.

" _Dio_! I'm such an idiot!" wailed Giulia. "We were too late! I should've talked to the dean—should've had Kovacs talk to the dean!"

"Giulia—I'm sorry. There's nothing we can do," Quinn remarked sorrowfully.

They all watched as Caroline's pale, limp body was placed in a dark blue bag and wheeled off to the morgue.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

The sun was setting when the police were done taking everyone's statements. Tight-lipped and white in the face, Luigi marched out of the station and down the steps to the street below. He couldn't believe this. First, Grant was bullied to death. Then, Donald took the fall for what happened with Durden. Then, Leni and her brood move away. And now this. Caroline kicked out of college due to a misunderstanding. Frankly, he wouldn't be surprised if the dean turned out to be working for Crazy Hand.

Giulia hurried after him. "Hey! Wait!"

Luigi stopped without looking at her.

"I just want to say how sorry I am about Caroline. I may have had my differences with her, but I didn't want this to happen."

"Neither did I," Luigi said tonelessly.

"You think someone manipulated the dean." It wasn't a question.

"I think it's Crazy Hand," said Luigi, turning to look at Giulia, "and I bet you haven't even tried pinpointing his location. Low on the priority list and all."

"We don't even know if he's pulling the strings," argued Giulia.

"And I should trust you."

"Darn right you should! It may take a while, but we _will_ get to the bottom of this mystery. You have my word. We'll catch these people."

"So others will take their place. I'm telling you, Giulia—it's not gonna stop!" Luigi sounded more sorrowful than angry.

"And neither are we," Giulia said firmly. "Don't leave town."

"Wait a sec—Caroline just confessed, didn't she? She made a dying declaration!"

"You're still considered a person of interest," Giulia explained as patiently as she could.

Luigi sighed with frustration and stalked off.

"I'm serious, L!" Giulia called after him. "If you pass the city limits, then you're screwed!"

Luigi flipped her off and kept walking.

 _Why me?_ He thought. _Why me?!_

 **The end is near...**


	50. Crash

**Crash**

He sat in his room, at his easel, sweeping his brush over the canvas before him. His mind was a churning maelstrom. It was all coming apart! He opened his eyes to 2017 with nothing but optimism, only to be sent into a tailspin. Why couldn't this happen to someone else? Why did it always have to be him? The waves of frustration, anger, helplessness and hopelessness manifested itself into his artwork. Swirls of deep red, blood-red—dirty blonde stained violet—the image of his friend splayed on the precinct floor like a grotesque angel searing behind his eyes. In his painting, the body was replaced with a star, a symbol he'd come to associate with strength and light and spirit. The star was in the center of the canvas, big and yellow and glowing and bright. But then the luster began to dull, the points of the star going limp as Luigi painted a deep, ugly gash into the "belly" of the star. He created a pooling effect, wanting to accurately depict the life and energy draining from this star, spilling everywhere, staining everything. He turned the star's eyes empty and glossy and painted shadows in the blood. Then, he hung the thing out to dry and studied it. This was his hope, the goodness in his life, dying.

Luigi stayed there for the remainder of the day, only coming out to eat dinner and tend to his toilette. He painted more pictures of fallen stars—cut, bleeding and mutilated stars, because they personified how he felt. If the friends he'd made didn't turn on him, then they died on him. Such was the life of the man in green.

When he ran out of space to dry his works, Luigi crept to the bathroom and took a long shower, lathering up his body and his hair, letting his tears mix with the water. But no matter how many times he lathered, he couldn't wash away the images of Grant in the car, or Donald turning himself in, or Caroline in a pool of her own blood. Especially the latter.

He rinsed himself off, wrapped himself in a towel, padded back into his room, dried off and dressed in a clean pair of pajamas. Then, he hopped into his bed and pulled the covers to his chin, hoping to get some sleep.

It didn't come easily to him that night.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Caroline's service was beautiful. A trio of bagpipes played familiar haunting ballads. The mourners came bearing lavenders, baby's breath and peonies, her favorite flowers. Everyone from the support group attended and read poems in her honor. And as her casket was lowered to the ground, everyone scattered white lilies over the gravesite.

After the funeral, everyone went to the Community Center for the reception, talking quietly about how Caroline's presence in the group touched them. Giulia, for the most part, kept to herself. She couldn't help but feel responsible. If she hadn't been so tough on her, then maybe Caroline wouldn't have seen trial, the dean wouldn't have expelled her—

When she led a team of officers to search Caroline's place, they'd found a trail of blood leading to a bloodstained knife. Someone had waved Giulia over to the bedroom, where the telltale note was located. Giulia would never forget that note as long as she lived. In it, Caroline had accused the police department, Giulia especially, of ruining her future, and made it clear that this was all their fault. When she stumbled into the precinct that day, Caroline had fully intended to scar Giulia for life, as the cuts almost resembled the was Bella had ended it all. She hadn't had a peaceful night's sleep since.

And last but not least, as a posthumous middle finger to the face, Caroline had posted the footage of what Quinlan and Stillman had done to her on a Cop Watch website—along with the footage of Giulia Tasering her. Caroline had also tagged Giulia in the latter video when she posted it to Facebook. She was pardoned in the eyes of Internal Affairs, but not in the eyes of the public.

"Hey."

Luigi's voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

"You okay?"

"I don't know," murmured Giulia.

"I guess we're both damaged people, huh?"

"Yeah. Guess so."

"And—I'm sorry for flipping you off at the station. It was stupid, mean and wrong."

"I know." Giulia rubbed her temples. "How many more people have to be destroyed or die for this to stop?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," mused Luigi. "I never saw this coming, you know. On her first day, Caroline was perky and free-spirited. I don't know…"

"Me, neither. I guess the past haunted her more than she let on. Her outburst that day should've warned us."

"Giulia—you shouldn't beat yourself up over this," said Luigi.

"I know—it's just—that I feel like my actions set her on that slippery slope. If I'd kept my cool, then perhaps she'd still be here."

"She was already messed up by what those freaks did to her," offered Luigi. "Maybe she should've combined this with one-on-one help, like I'm doing. A number of factors could've led to this."

Giulia took a breath. "I can't sleep without seeing her body," she said. "I think—I think she did this to punish me. Her suicide node was mainly a diatribe against me and the police department for 'not doing our job'."

"I saw the videos," began Luigi, but Giulia cut him off.

"Everyone saw them. I can handle it."

"If there's anything I can do…"

"Just stay out of trouble. That's all I ask of you," Giulia said tiredly.

If only she knew how hard that had become—

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"What do you think about it?" asked Dr. Park.

"I can't help but feel angry at her. Why wouldn't I?" Luigi said honestly.

"But she apologized," said Dr. Park.

"She was too late," murmured Luigi. "She snapped out of it too late, had the charges dropped too late. Caroline's life was already ruined. Her expulsion from college sealed her fate."

"I'm hearing rumors that Caroline _wanted_ to die in front of Giulia to spite her. Do you believe that's true?"

"Not really?"

"What about the videos she put up?"

"She shouldn't have done that," conceded Luigi. "In that last act, _she_ became the bully. I'm trying to have that video removed from Facebook, with varying degrees of success. Despite my diminishing faith in the police, I wouldn't do something like that to them."

"I believe you."

"But I saw her at the memorial with that look on her face and—I just burst apart inside, you know? I can't help but hold her a little responsible. I'll get over it, though. It's gonna take time, but I will."

"But…"

"Our friendship will never be the same. Just like my friendships with—those three."

"Falcon, Fox and Pikachu."

Luigi nodded.

"I got over what they did. I can't lie about that. But—at the same time—I didn't."

"I see."

"Giulia apologized. Falcon and Fox apologized. Pikachu apologized. But 'sorry' is merely a word. Nothing more and nothing less."

"What about the way the word is said?" challenged Dr. Park.

"Yes—that helps. But only a little. It's nice to see and hear that a person feels remorse for hurting you. But remorse does not equal immunity."

"Wha—what are you saying?"

"I'm saying—that I've been far too lax on those three," said Luigi. "Even though they genuinely feel remorse, they need to be discouraged from doing such things to me again."

"L—you need to talk to them. Use our words."

"That's what Dr. T said."

"She's right. Getting violent with them will make things worse."

"I never said that I was gonna get violent with them."

"Then—what are you gonna do?"

Luigi's voice bore no emotion when he responded, "I haven't decided yet."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

He was still contemplating it later as he sat at the piano Master Hand had recently added to the Smash Lounge, the haunting notes of the Moonlight Sonata echoing throughout the room. His face was shiny with sweat and tears, all manner of thoughts and memories flitting around inside him. The summary of his life so far could be characterized as one betrayal and snub after another after another. Betrayal, snub, loss, spurn, hateful laughter and names. He tried to forget and forgive and focus on the positives he'd gained, but so many monsters had turned or tried to turn his positives into negatives, or some positives turned out to be negatives. Luigi didn't know which was which anymore.

 _Are they talking about me behind my back? Are they secretly reliving their glory days? Are they waiting for a chance to spring another one on me? Are they…? Are they…?_

 _Are they…?_

With each second that ticked by, Luigi became more and more convinced that he was living in a world in which no one would come to save him. No one would help him, and no one would care. No one—except himself.

He finished the song, the last key lingering in the air and in his mind, before determinedly getting to his feet.

"That's it," he hissed to himself. "I'm done with giving second chances!"

 **Only two chapters to go. How will this end?**

 **Please read and review.**


	51. Maelstrom

**Maelstrom**

 **Watch out for the cliffhanger at the end!**

Clouds had begun to roll in by the time the sun started to set. They weren't the whispy clouds, either—they were the heavy, grayish-black clouds reeking of a rainstorm. The air became charged, tense. Birds took cover in their nests, while other animals chose to wait out the storm in their respective burrows. People on the street saw the approaching clouds, rushed to their houses and battened down their hatches, making sure they had plenty of food, water, medical supplies, batteries, flashlights and radios.

Yet another storm of a different sort was brewing.

Luigi strolled primly into the Smash chapel, the waning sunlight pouring through the stained-glass windows. Several rows of unlit candles rested on the altar before him. As the clouds outside swallowed up the sun, Luigi took up a lighter and carefully lit thirty-four of those candles. Those thirty-four candles stood for his thirty-four years in the video-game consciousness, most of which nobody even remembered his name. Then, he lit an additional candle each for the souls of Grant and Caroline.

Thirty-six candles burned brightly, casting Luigi and his surroundings in an ethereal glow. The plumber removed his hat, crossed himself, knelt before the altar and silently began to pray. He prayed for Leni and her family, starting over new. He prayed for Myra, growing inside her mother's womb. He prayed that Grant and Caroline's spirits would find eternal rest and be cleansed of their mortal sin. He prayed for Donald, hoping he wouldn't be caged like an animal for long. He prayed for Eric, for Verne, for Simon, for Paulette, for Mikhail—for the faces he'd seen in his support group. He prayed for Dr. Mario, for Dr. Thorpe and for Dr. Park. He prayed for Giulia and Quinn and the entire Smashville Police Department. He prayed for Master Hand and Master Core. He prayed for his big bro and for the love of his life, for Peach, for E. Gadd and for the Toads. He prayed for his fellow Smashers. And then he prayed for his own immortal soul.

When he was finished, Luigi raised his head and stared at the candles. "Forgive me," he said quietly.

He rose, crossed himself once more, turned and walked out of the chapel.

There was work to do.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Dr. Mario finished knotting his tie and slid his coat back on, nodding at his reflection in the mirror. The rumples had been smoothed away, the lipstick stains wiped clean. Nobody would have to find out—for now.

Dr. Park—Kristy—entered, carrying a bowl of freshly-prepared Chex Mix. She set the bowl down next to two cups and a liter of soda. "Hey," she said.

"Hey."

"There's a 'Scrubs' marathon going on right now," said Kristy.

"How do you know I love that show?"

"First guess."

They sat on the couch together and turned on the TV.

"Storm's gonna hit tonight," mused Kristy, "and it looks to be a doozy."

"It won't be—as long as you're here," said Dr. Mario.

Kristy laughed.

"Want me to get us some blankets?" asked Dr. Mario.

"Please."

Both doctors were still trying to figure out what had happened. After heck broke loose with Luigi's second attack and Caroline's suicide, they found themselves together at a quiet little diner. They talked, compared notes, and then they wound up in Kristy's apartment, sharing cookies and ice cream. That was when it happened. Kristy had put her hand over Dr. Mario's, both of them staring into each other's eyes. They'd kissed. One thing had led to another. And they'd wound up in Kristy's bed, naked, her legs pointed skyward as he thrust in her again and again. Once they'd reached completion, Kristy rolled them over and rode Dr. Mario, his hands on her hips, his voice groaning and growling. They made magic over and over, in a variety of positions. This wasn't some one-time, spur-of-the-moment thing. This was sweet and tender and real.

It didn't take them long for the two of them to snuggle up in the blankets with their Chex Mix, watching the classic sitcom.

"Can I tell you something?" Dr. Mario asked during a commercial break.

"Yeah?"

"I think—that I'm finally at peace with what happened to me during Melee. And it's all thanks to you. Thank you, Kristy."

"You're welcome."

"If—we really want to make this work, then we can't let this interfere with our collaboration," warned Dr. Mario.

"It won't get weird," smiled Kristy. "I promise. But we'd better keep this between ourselves for now."

"Agreed," said Dr. Mario, kissing her cheek.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

The metallic smell associated with a coming rainstorm now hung thick in the air as Fox made his way to his room, exhausted and sore from some late-night training. As his hand touched the doorknob, he sensed that something was off.

And he was proven right as he swung the door open.

"Oh, my holy God," he said.

Fox's room was in shambles. Furniture was shattered or tipped over. Mirrors were broken. Trophies past and present were on the ground, pieces twisted off or crushed in. Photos and papers were scattered everywhere. And on one wall, the message YOU HURT ME was spray painted in red.

Drawing his Blaster, Fox crept inside the wrecked room. It was empty, and there was no sign of forced entry. The photos and papers rustled under his boots. Curious, Fox picked up one photo. It was a shot of him and Luigi from the very first tournament, before the tier list was put up. Feeling sick, Fox picked up a piece of paper—it was a printout of the horrible things he'd said about Luigi over the old Smash Blog! He could remember sitting in his room at his old computer, typing every last cruel word. In fact, all of the scattered papers contained accounts of what he'd done in 1999 and 2001! The photos were surveillance stills catching him tying Luigi's shoelaces together, scoffing at him and about to deploy a bathroom prank! There were also pictures of him from the parties he'd thrown in Melee, him so drunk he could hardly remember what had happened! Photos upon photos upon photos of him partying like an animal, giving Luigi the cold shoulder and making a spectacle of himself on the battlefield. It didn't take rocket science to figure out the who and the why.

Gasping in disbelief, Fox darted out of the demolished room and toward Master Hand's office. He was midway there when his cell phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Did you like my little surprise?" Luigi's voice was eerily calm.

"L—how could you do something like that?" asked Fox. "I thought we were over what happened back then."

"You thought wrong," snapped Luigi, "and there's no statute of limitations on what you did to me."

"If you're still hurting, then why didn't you say so? I could've understood. I'm perfectly willing to hash things out."

"I wanted to talk to you about this, but—I was worried that you'd get hostile and defensive and try to justify your actions," Luigi said shakily.

"There is no way I can justify how I acted," said Fox. "It was wrong, prideful and stupid, and I really hurt you."

"Yes, you did! And even though I know you're remorseful, it still hurts!" Luigi started to cry. "I just don't want you to think that you can get away with it just because I forgave you! Because the next time it happens, forgiveness will be out of the question!"

"Why is it coming back now?"

"Because it just keeps happening! Lives being lost, even ruined, at the hands of savage, unscrupulous characters! It's like—it's like a switch gets thrown! Remorse or no remorse, people are damaged, and that damage cannot be undone!"

"I appreciate that you've tried to move on and that you wanted to help me move on, as well. But do you see what holding all of that inside has done? It caused you to snap and trash my room. Like I said, the two of this can hash things out sometime."

"Oh, we will. We will. No items, 3 stocks, Final Destination. I'll be waiting."

And then he hung up.

Master Hand poked himself out through the door. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No, Master Hand," said Fox. "Get Final Destination ready for a late-night bout, will you?"

He turned and walked away, leaving MH dumbstruck.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Fox paused at the chapel, where the thirty-six candles still burned radiantly. He somberly made his way to the altar, crossed himself, knelt and said an Our Father plus three Hail Mary's. When he finished, his eyes were glistening with tears. He topped off his supplication by lighting a candle for his soul, a candle for his sins in the first tournament and a candle for his sins in Melee. "Forgive me," he said before regaining his composure and getting ready for his late-night match.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Outside, the storm had begun to break. Rain pelted the ground and the roof of the Smash Mansion, a drizzle at first, but it increased to a steady pour as time went by. It drummed on the roof, windshield and windows of the police cruiser parked near the building.

Inside the cruiser, Giulia and Quinn were safe and warm, the former nursing a cup of soup Bayo had prepared for her, the latter nursing a cup of tea.

"I've always loved the rain," mused Giulia. "My folks told me that when it rains, God is crying."

"Is He?" asked Quinn.

"He has a lot to be sad for—mainly the wickedness in the world He created."

"It's why He destroyed it the first time," murmured Quinn. "I thought we learned something from that."

"I guess not."

"What is this—talk about wickedness? Anger at Bella's bullies?"

"Yeah—and the fact that there are so many Bellas in need of our help, and we can't save them all, no matter how hard we try."

"Grant," realized Quinn, "and Caroline."

"And Luigi," finished Giulia.

"There are as many Grants, Carolines and Luigis to help as there are Bellas," said Quinn, "and though we can't save all of them, we can save as many as we can."

"You want to know what else I was taught growing up?" Giulia asked after a while.

"Yeah?"

"You may be cleansed if you bathe in God's tears. I've done that a few times—it felt more refreshing than a shower."

"Hm. I'd love to try that sometime."

They glanced up as a bright trail lit up the rainy sky.

"Kirby," said Giulia. "Where is he going in such weather?"

"Maybe he's bathing in God's tears," Quinn said wryly.

 _ **Earlier…**_

Kirby puffed into the chapel to find Pikachu curled up in the front pew, praying. As quietly as he could, the Star Warrior settled himself beside the electric mouse.

"Poyo?" he asked.

Pikachu smiled sadly. "Pika," he said. He was unable to sleep, as the rain dredged up memories of his feud with Luigi sixteen years ago. But what was worse than the way he antagonized the plumber was the way he ignored Kirby's turmoil over being "low-tier trash". He felt partially responsible for Kirby turning to extreme measures to cope with the pain.

Kirby put an appendage on the small of Pikachu's back. "Poyo, poyo, poyo popoyo poyoyo poy?"

Pikachu nodded.

"Poyo poyoyo poyo," Kirby said consolingly. He didn't blame Pikachu for what had happened during Melee. He was upset that he'd care more about some stupid side special than about his well-being, but he didn't think he was at fault for the drama he'd been subjected to. Kirby also knew that Pikachu had spent the last sixteen years trying to atone for his actions, a task easier said than done.

"Pika, pika, pika, pi," Pikachu said softly.

And he was right. He'd left Kirby to fend for himself while accusing poor Luigi of being a copycat. So much so that Kirby had sought comfort from another source—Jigglypuff. Nothing serious happened between the two fluffballs, but Pikachu knew he should've stayed by Kirby's side throughout that crap.

"Poyo," Kirby reassured him, telling Pikachu that he'd already made that up to him.

"Pi—pika, pika, pika, pi, pika," said Pikachu, fretting over his salvation.

"Poyo," smiled Kirby.

Pikachu rose, with Kirby following, and stood at the altar. With a boost from the puffball, the iconic Pokémon lit a candle for each of his transgressions—abandoning Kirby in his time of need, turning against Luigi over a side special and inviting others to do the same. After lighting the candles, Pikachu felt a little better.

Kirby summoned his Warp Star and offered Pikachu a ride. Pikachu accepted by hopping aboard behind Kirby, and the two of them took off, uncaring of the rain.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Fox stepped onto Final Destination and gasped as the raindrops darted onto his body. Luckily, the stage was designed to be skid-free, so slipping and sliding wouldn't be an issue. Rather than dim and bleak, the ambience consisted of rainbow swirls, probably from the raindrops refracting on the lights. The effect was beautiful.

"I'm glad you didn't keep me waiting for long, Fox."

The vulpine faced the other end of the stage, where Luigi stood, wearing a pink shirt and hat paired with red overalls. Raindrops weaved through his chocolate locks and dark eyelashes and cooled his skin. His blue eyes shone intensely.

"I've waited for this moment for a very long time," said Luigi.

Fox shrugged. "I should've known it was coming. But are you sure you want to do this in the rain?"

"Abso-freaking-lutely."

"All right then," said Fox, shrugging off his jacket to reveal a black tank top with the image of the Star Fox symbol inside his beloved Reflector printed in the middle. "Let's dance."

Luigi rolled up his sleeves. "Come on, man," he said in a low voice.

They lunged toward each other as the rainfall increased to a full-on downpour.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Master Hand floated into the chapel with Master Core, finding themselves drawn to the larger candles in the back row of the arrangement. Carefully, MH took the taper and lit the second largest candle, while MC lit the largest candle. Then, they knelt before the altar, recited the Lord's Prayer and asked for guidance, reassurance and protection during the storm. Not just the storm outside, but the storm within them, and the storm raging inside one Smasher in particular.

"You think he's gonna be okay?" asked MH as they listened to the battering rain.

"Only time will tell, my son," MC responded somberly. "Only time will tell."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"Delivery for Douglas Jay Falcon!"

Captain Falcon opened the door and saw the Mii standing there, holding a manila envelope. "Hi, there," he said.

"Hey," said the Mii, holding out the envelope. "This is for you!"

"Why is the mail coming this late?" asked Falcon.

"Maybe because of the storm," postulated the Mii. "Have a nice day!"

Douglas sat back onto his bed and opened the envelope, whistling a tune. But the whistling stopped as soon as he saw the contents of the envelope.

"What sick joke is this?" he demanded aloud.

Photos. Glossy, 6X8, full-color photos, accusing him, condemning him. Him and Fox in his room, getting blind drunk and jamming to hip-hop and gangsta rap. Him in the stands, hands cupped to his mouth, shouting a jeer and lobbing a Maxim tomato. Him spraying whipped cream or shaving cream onto a chair. Him hiding out in the bathroom to pull a gross-out prank. Him posing on the battlefield and doing his infamous taunt. And him in the lounge, arms spread wide, bellowing his drunken challenge.

"Oh, my holy God," gasped Falcon. "Luigi."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

The first streaks of lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the two fighters on Final Destination. But this was no ordinary bout. One of the combatants, in the eyes of the other, had a debt to repay, a debt hanging over his head for the past eighteen years. He'd been far too lax on addressing what the other had done, and now, he was righting that wrong.

So far, this fight was anything but pretty. Both had come out strong with their best, their fastest and their most devastating attacks. But it soon became clear that Fox was in deep [ _bleep_ ]. His skills were no match for the raw might of the man he'd wronged so long ago. The vulpine had found himself smashed, buffeted, battered, bruised and bloodied. Yet something told him to keep going, to keep fighting, which he did.

At least this wasn't a full-on one-sided beatdown. Luigi was pretty dinged-up, too. Eye swollen shut, the other eye terribly blackened, nose broken, lip fattened, jaw fractured. Bruised and cracked ribs. Cuts, bruises and blood everywhere. He was in pain, but he still got up after Fox managed to knock him to the ground. His eyes blazed at his opponent, eighteen years of pent-up aggression and rage bursting to the surface. He threw fireballs the size of his face. The power of a super-twister was packed into every Cyclone. When he rocketed himself into Fox's body, he almost always got a misfire. And each jumping uppercut he threw erupted in a greenish-white flash. Fox scored points with his kicks and tail swipes and special moves, but Luigi's brawn was in full control.

THUD. Fox currently found himself flat on his tail from Luigi's forward smash, winded, aching and swollen. He struggled to catch his breath and reorient himself, hearing Luigi's own labored respirations and his footsteps as he approached.

Fox's vision cleared, and he studied his opponent. Luigi's body was shaking and peppered with bruises. Through the discoloration, Fox could see the anger and resentment flushing his cheeks. The blue eyes, dilated. The bleeding mouth, clenched. The jaw, working. Huge tears began spilling down his face.

"Why?" asked Luigi. "Why? Why did you do it?"

Breathing slowly, Fox drew himself to his feet. "I've asked myself that for nearly twenty years," he sighed. "I wish I can take that foolish, childish pup aside and ask him that. I wish I can talk some sense into him, but I can't. The pup is gone, and in his place is this mercenary leader."

"And look what that pup left in his wake," choked out Luigi. "The imprints of scoffing, pranking, belittling, putting down and shoelace-tying—he scarred me, Fox! And no matter how much you regret it—those scars can never heal! And there's the lingering fear in the back of my mind—the fear that you'll succumb to temptation and do it again!"

"I promise you—that will never happen," vowed Fox.

Luigi blinked away his tears. "I believe you," he said finally. He released a shuddering breath and raised his fists. "You ready?"

Fox set his face. "C'mon," he goaded.

Luigi's attacks were now calmer and more controlled, the worst of his fury burned away. He dodged Fox's Blaster and his kicks, ferociously smashing his fists and feet into the vulpine's sides, disabling the Reflector, the Reflector which Fox used to ride to victory, but never again. New, nasty bruises dotted the length of Fox's flank, but he pushed himself past the pain, nicking Luigi several times with Blaster shots, blindsiding him with the Firefox and taking the offensive with swift, powerful kicks. He managed to land a few impressive Smash attacks before Luigi grabbed him and flung him away, kicking his Blaster off the stage and into the void as he tried to recover. The vulpine didn't protest, knowing that he deserved worse.

Still, he got up and stared Luigi down. He was gonna give this plumber one heck of a fight. The blows continued to fly as more lightning flashed and forked and the rain pounded down in thick sheets, stinging their wounds yet refreshing them at the same time. Their bodies were illuminated against the multitude of lights and stood out against the millions of raindrops continuing to fall from the moisture-heavy clouds.

As the raindrops hit Luigi, condensation began to rise from his skin, a green glow outlining his form like the sticks found at a party. Fox watched in awe as bluish-green pulses enveloped his gloved hands, pulses which grew and grew and grew. Lightning began to dance around his hands as he harnessed the power of the charged air and sky, from fingertips to wrists and continuing down to his forearms. It was an amazing sensation. He felt the electricity in his limbs, his heart, his soul. He felt his hair frizz slightly. He felt his heart pound faster and faster. Dr. Park was right. It was such a relief to finally let these emotions out.

Fox was so busy gawking at Luigi that he didn't see the surge of electricity coming before it was too late. "Yeow!" he screamed as the current slammed into him, making his fur stand up straight. Luigi shocked him with lightning balls again and again as he advanced, and when he was close enough, he sent an electrified punch into the vulpine's chin. Fox kicked from the ground, got up and landed a roundhouse right to his opponent's face and a barrage of punches to the midsection. Swiftly, Luigi returned the favor with harder, electrified punches and Smash attacks, tossing in a special move or two. The advantage wildly seesawed back and forth, Fox's martial-arts style moves winning one moment, only to have Luigi's devastating power and combos take over the next.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Falcon walked into the chapel, his heart heavy and his soul burdened with guilt. How could he forget what he did? How could he forget that night in the lounge when he called Luigi a name? How could he forget the Team Battle when he tried to blame Samus for the loss? How could he forget ostracizing Luigi after being friendly with him in the beginning? When Luigi sent him that envelope, he was warning him about something—but what? That God had seen his display? That he could be punished in the afterlife if he didn't repent? He could see the large, fiery pit that was the Inferno, reeking of sulfur, the souls within wailing in eternal agony. _Abandon all hope, ye who enter here_. He was guilty of the sin of Pride and likely to be sent to the Ninth Circle—where the betrayers languished—unless he proved that he'd atoned.

He gazed upon the altar and began lighting candles of his own. Were there enough candles for the sins he'd committed? He lit one for the afternoon where he'd refused to enjoy ice-cream with the others. He lit one for the nights he spent getting drunk with Fox. He lit one for the name he'd called Luigi, for the violent brawl between them in the lounge, for the fateful Team Battle, for the pranks he'd pulled. Yet the candles weren't enough. There was one other thing he had to do.

He bowed his head, crossed himself and knelt.

"Bless me, Father," he began, "for I have sinned…"

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Fox spat out a curse as Final Destination gave him a big, sloppy kiss for the umpteenth time, his nerves and muscles humming from the electricity-infused attacks he'd taken. He slid toward the edge, but he rolled to his feet before he slipped over. Spitting out a mouthful of blood, he spun toward Luigi in time to observe him shrugging out of his shirt, leaving the overalls in place.

"I'll be honest with you L," said Fox. "I can't deny how good that feels."

"Yeah. Just like old times, right?" Luigi asked tightly.

"No, no—that's not what I mean."

"Then what _do_ you mean?"

"Fighting in a storm—it's not the same as fighting in calm weather."

Luigi smiled wickedly. "You're right. And let _me_ be frank with _you_ —you don't even know how long I've wanted to do this."

"Let's not waste any more of each other's time and energy," said Fox. "You wanted this match—so fight it."

Luigi's eyes flashed with the lightning. "Fine."

Again, they charged toward each other, Fox now targeting his opponent's exposed skin, enjoying the sight of sweat mixing with rain. Muscles flashed and danced as Luigi vehemently returned Fox's blows, his tongue raking across his lips, energy not even close to sapping. Even as Fox started using his judo training to knock the plumber off his feet, he was nigh unstoppable. He was amazed at how hot he still was. He'd expected to feel a little irked, but man! He was a long-dormant volcano which had just erupted. He was a bottle of soda, tightly closed for eighteen years and shaken repeatedly, and when the cap was finally twisted off, the contents sprayed everywhere. It had started off as a slow burn, but as the thunder rumbled and the forks of lightning streaked the sky, it had started to grow. With each kick, punch, throw and combo, he remembered. He remembered everything. He wanted Fox to remember. And he wanted the aches Fox felt tomorrow to be reminders. Of their fight. Of what he did. And of what he said.

He felt an especially intense pulse of electricity encircle his fist, an enraged shout ripping from his lungs as he sent it into Fox's face. Fox backflipped and returned with a stylish piledriver which sent Luigi to the floor. Sweeping both legs about, Luigi got back up and threw some more punches, then a flying kick and an elbow strike. He blocked an incoming attack but missed another, harder one, whipping his head back; Fox got in five more punches before Luigi sent a forward smash into his midsection and laid him out to dry with a breakdance sweep.

Fox covered his get-up with a tail swipe and tried to take the lead with Fox Illusion, but Luigi recovered quickly, grabbing Fox by the tail and swinging him around before hurling him in the air and following him on the way up. He flip-kicked him a few times before dealing a downwards kick, smashing the vulpine back onto the stage.

"God, I need my Blaster right now," Fox murmured as he hopped back up, only to find himself in Luigi's grip. And when he saw the look on the plumber's face, all he could think was, _Oh, no_.

 _I'm really gonna enjoy this_ , thought Luigi as he heaved Fox downward and Ground-Pounded him.

And he did. He really did. None of the opponents he'd comboed in the past compared to the rawness of this—the photographic muscle memory flashing along his synapses, his heart drumming against his chest, breathing in the smell of the rain, the sheets pouring onto him as if trying to cool his fire. But it burned on as he recalled and recollected. Him, tangled up with Falcon, Ness and Jiggs on the Twister mat in a mess of shrieking giggles as Fox called out commands using the spinner. Fox, refusing to give him the time of day after the tier list was put up, making up some lame excuse or simply scoffing that he had no time for such childishness. Fox and Falcon, turning down an ice-cream sundae because they saw "some bad apples". Fox and Falcon, blasting hard rock and gangsta rap in their room. Fox and Falcon, blind drunk in the lounge, Fox laughing while Falcon did the provoking. Fox tying Luigi's shoelaces together. Fox getting snarky on the blog and laughing at Luigi in the stands. Fox helping Falcon pull gross-out pranks in the bathroom. He thought it would be less painful by now, but obviously, he thought wrong. The injuries and attacks of the present ripped open the wounds from the past. And so here they were, on Final Destination amidst a tremendous downpour, and Luigi just focused on the memories and their associations and let them build—build until they finally—won—finally exploded in him like a cannon going off, manifesting themselves into the ugliest, fiercest, most relentless and most painful down throw combos like nobody had ever seen! Combined with the electricity now powering his attacks, this was truly something else! Luigi now felt like he was truly letting go—his combos were a surefire way of dumping out loads and loads of tension, and that was no different in this situation! So, he kept going and going and going, windedness and nerf be d—ned, starting a new combo right after he finished the previous. Fox tried to take what was being dished out to him, understanding what was boiling inside his opponent, but his situation wasn't about to abate anytime soon. So, he fought defensively, praying for an opening and for a new Blaster.

Neither of his prayers were answered.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

With the rain not even close to letting up, Quinn and Giulia took refuge inside the Smash Mansion and found themselves in the chapel. The warm glow of the candles proved quite relaxing, so the two police officers decided that it was the perfect place to wait out the storm. They leaned back against the front pew, staring at the fresco painted on the ceiling and pondering over their own immortal souls.

Giulia broke the silence with a sharp laugh.

"What is it?" asked Quinn.

"Do you think God will forgive us if we get rough with suspects?"

Quinn sighed. "Come on, Giulia…"

"In the line of duty, when we have to get our man, or sometimes our woman, we have to commit a sin. We have to deceive others when we go undercover or trick someone into confessing. We have to get our hands dirty when the suspect resists."

"We're not perfect people, Giulia," said Quinn.

"You got that right."

"We're taken into the darkest, grittiest shades of human nature, and it's all we can do not to scream at this madness, to bash some pervert's head in with a nightstick, or to…"

"I know. I've been tempted multiple times. I—I keep seeing Bella's face in the faces of the victims, whose lives were shattered for the heck of it. And—I think it got to me. I've grown to think that in this world, it's either eat or be eaten."

"Do you think that's why you acted as you had with Caroline?"

"Maybe. What I'm saying, Cap'n, is this—when I'm on the job, I fight for truth, justice, safety and security. But my interpretations of those values have become—skewed. Will God forgive me for that?"

"When you work in law enforcement, you wind up with baggage. And—those who fight monsters just might become them."

"You're right. But I don't wanna become a monster. I don't want to be remembered as the policewoman who terrorized a support group and drove one of its members to suicide. What do you think I should do?"

Quinn gestured toward the altar. "You're at a good starting point," she replied.

Solemnly, Giulia rose from the pew and stood at the altar. She crossed herself, picked up the taper and lit a row of candles. For herself, for Bella, for Quinn, for Bayo, for her colleagues, for Grant's soul, for Caroline's soul and for the friends and loved ones they left behind. When she finished, she settled back onto the pew, took out her cross and bowed her head.

Quinn watched her in silence before she, too, proceeded to the altar.

"You know, Giulia," she murmured. "When my husband got back from his latest mission, he was so—broken. He was sickened by what he had witnessed and what he had to do. I'd find him scrubbing at his hands, and he told me that he could never wash the blood from them. He's a mercenary, you see—part of something called Metal Gear."

"Metal Gear—I've heard of that."

"Every night since he got back, he asked me to help him pray for his soul, and so I have. I've prayed for him, and I've prayed for my team—including you. Giulia—you're like the daughter I've never had." As she spoke, Quinn lit another row of candles. "We're always asked how we do this job, and to be honest, I don't know myself. I guess—someone has to fight for those who can't."

Giulia raised her head. "I think—it's the hope I see in the eyes of the young child, of the senior citizen, that keeps me going. It's what keeps all heroes going—the Smashers included."

Quinn finished lighting the candles and sat down beside her officer. "We're what keeps _them_ going," she said softly, "and that's good enough for me."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Captain Falcon sat nervously in Master Hand's office as the latter leafed through the photos Luigi had given the former. He didn't know what else to do, who else to call. All he could see was himself eighteen years ago, in that lounge, so drunk that he could barely stand, calling Luigi that _name_ and then swinging punches at him. All he could hear was his own voice, shouting jeers and reproaches at the man in green. He glimpsed the lightning flashing at him from outside the window and felt as if it was an army of avenging angels descending upon him.

"Wow," MH said finally. "I can't put my finger on it."

"Me, neither," said Falcon. "Why would he do something like this?"

"I'm worried about him, too. He's lost so many friends in such a short time span. First, Grant offs himself, then Leni and the kids move away, and now Caroline—he's in a very bad way."

"What does that have to do with this? Are you saying that the trauma is bringing it back?"

"I believe so. He's fighting Fox on Final Destination as we speak."

"Fox?" An icy feeling swept through the racer.

"Earlier, Fox asked me to arrange the stage for a late-night battle," explained MH. "I glanced at the monitors and saw Luigi with him."

"Well, when are they gonna finish? I need to talk to him!"

"It's a three-stock fight. And—I'd wait for him to cool off first. I think I know why those two are fighting it out at this hour."

"Oh, God," murmured Falcon.

"Frankly, I thought you worked this out last year."

"So did I. But that was before all of this travesty happened." Falcon sighed. "I'll wait for him. Whatever he does to me—I deserve." He rose, took the photos, bade MH good night and left.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"No more! For God's sake, no more!" Fox cried out hoarsely as he picked himself up from the cold, sopping wet stage. He was now on his last stock, agony shooting down the length of his body. Luigi had started back in on him mere seconds after he'd respawned, and he'd tried and failed to use his brief respawn invincibility to turn the tide. Now, standing in the cascade of rain and light, peppered with bruises, bleeding in some areas and exhausted, he stared down his opponent, equally bruised, bloodied and exhausted yet ready for more.

"Everything I ever did to you—I'm sorry, okay!" entreated Fox, cradling his abdomen. "If I could take it all back, then I would!"

"I—know," panted Luigi. "It's just—nearly twenty years, it was bottled up inside me, and it—exploded."

"Will I ever live this down? Will I ever atone for it?" asked Fox. "What do I have to do? Just tell me—and I'll do it!"

"I—don't know if there's anything you can do," Luigi said sadly. "You apologized, and you changed your ways—but it's still with me. No matter what you do, and no matter what I do, I'll always remember. It'll always hurt. And it'll keep me up at night sometimes."

Fox closed his eyes and hung his head, knowing that Luigi was right.

The plumber sat on the edge of the stage, and Fox plunked down beside him.

"Please, don't hate me," Fox said after a while.

"To be honest, I want to hate you, but I can't," said Luigi. "I can't ignore how you learned from your mistakes, unlike the others. You did more than just say you were sorry. You showed me that you were sorry. So I forgave you."

"I don't deserve your forgiveness," huffed Fox. "I deserve to be punished—like them!"

Luigi put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not gonna do that to you. And you're wrong. You _do_ deserve to be forgiven—because you were already punished. When your actions pushed people away—you were being punished."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It was a gentle punishment, but it was needed to convince you that you were wrong. And look at you now. You're good friends with those you used to taunt and tease—including me."

"You just needed to get it all out, huh?"

"Yeah. Guess so."

"Are we—are we cool?"

"We will be—eventually," Luigi assured him.

They sat there, the rain washing off the blood from their wounds and soothing their bruises.

"Laying there, in my moonlit room…" Luigi began, "memorizing and re-memorizing the cracks, ridges and bumps in the ceiling, my hands beneath my pillow, supporting my head, sometimes looking over my family portraits or awards hanging on my walls—I'd think about what you did, and I'd turn it over and over in my mind. I'd ask myself why—why would you do this? Did you care about the example you were setting for your team? Did you care about Star Fox? Did you care about how you'd make me feel? Were you really believing that you had the right to do that? Some nights, I'd cry. I'd cry myself to sleep. On that bed, I was—broken."

Fox stared at his paws.

"And then—I'd wake up in the morning and begin another day—and then I'd look at you, and— _d—mit_!" Luigi's fists were clenched in his lap, and he breathed heavily. "It's all okay until I look at you, Fox. I look at you, and I don't see a good friend. I don't see a Smasher. I don't see the leader of Star Fox, who symbolizes integrity and sacrifice and duty. I see a bullying jerk who thought he was everything just because of some piece of paper. What were you thinking, Fox? What was going through your head—that you'd get away with it because I was the worst fighter on the roster?"

"Maybe," murmured Fox.

"I see you, and it's all I can do not to burst apart. You and Falcon, going about your business like it never happened."

"We acknowledge that it happened, L," said Fox. "Not a day goes by that we don't feel guilty."

"On the battlefield, when you're standing across from me, ready to fight—I look at you, and—I _hate_ you. I _hate_ you with every breath in my body, with every fiber of my being, and I just—I just want to…" He sobbed. "I can't forget it. I can't stop thinking about it. You broke me and cut me and tinkered with me like I was your little toy and…" His sentence was lost in his pained and angry tears which mixed with the rain.

"C'mon, L," said Fox. "Let it out. Let it all out. Punch me. Kick me. Yell at me. Scream at me. Just—don't keep it bottled in anymore, all right?"

"Promise me that you'll never act like that again," Luigi choked out. "That you'll remember how you nearly lost my friendship and respect. That you'll always keep your humility no matter how well you get at this game. And if there's a new tournament for the Switch, and they have a tier list, that you'll always respect those fighting at your side, no matter how you're ranked. Promise me…"

"I promise," Fox said in a low voice.

Luigi nodded and rested his head of Fox's shoulder, crying out the last of his explosive emotions. The vulpine rubbed the small of his back, feeling the body relax as the minutes passed. Lightning arced around them, thunder sounding in echoing claps.

"Listen," Fox murmured. "God is talking."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

God was talking to Captain Falcon, too, and the racer wasn't quite enamored of what He had to say. Each minute he spent waiting served to tighten his stomach, loosen his bowels and raise his spider senses. Whatever the heck Luigi was doing to Fox, Falcon knew he deserved worse than that, since he was the primary conspirator and perpetrator. He was the one who insulted Luigi in that lounge. He was the one who engaged him in a bloody, physical fight. It was him, it was him, it was him!

And it was that truth which echoed with the thunder, the lightning and the drumming rain. The elements were accusing him, condemning him. And the more the accusations echoed, the more unnerved Falcon grew.

After one spectacular blast which lit up the room and made him jump, Falcon finally lost it. He had a Mii pull his Blue Falcon up to the main lot of the Smash Mansion. Then, he packed a small duffel bag and a cooler full of snacks, hopped into the vehicle and peeled out. Hopefully, a drive would steady his nerves.

Little did he know that the man in green saw everything from the rooftops…

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"Hey," said Giulia as Val and Evelyn entered the chapel. "Wanna join the party?"

"Sure, why not?" smiled Val.

"Can't you believe this weather?" chimed in Evelyn.

"Tell me about it," sighed Quinn. "This rainstorm blindsided us."

Val and Evelyn walked over to the altar and each picked up a taper.

"What brings you two here?" asked Quinn.

"We need some introspection," Evelyn said softly. "A lot has happened to our friend—and to us. We want to be sure that we're on the right path." She lit a candle.

"We hoped that this would be the year Luigi finally caught a break," sighed Val, also lighting a candle, "but it seems to us that this world just—doesn't want to catch him a break." He lit another candle.

"Luigi has been in our lives since we were children," intoned Evelyn, "and now that we've grown up and met him in person, we want to look out for him and protect him."

"You can't protect him from everything," Giulia said wisely.

"Tell me about it." Evelyn lit a fourth candle and then knelt. "Heavenly Father, please watch over Luigi. Please, set him on the right path." She crossed herself and rose, and then placed a hand on her belly. "Our little one might need him."

Giulia gasped. "When…?"

"Three days ago," smiled Val. "I'm so nervous."

"So, am I," confessed Evelyn, "but I know we'll make it. I mean, look at Evan and Mandy—and they have twins."

"Congratulations," beamed Quinn.

"Thanks," said Evelyn.

"Are you two hoping for a boy or a girl?"

"Girl," Val and Evelyn said in unison.

They paused when they heard an engine roar past them. Headlights flickered across the church.

"Uh-oh," said Quinn. "We've got ourselves a speeder. Let's go, Giulia."

"See ya," Giulia said to the expectant couple as she followed Quinn out. "Want me to call for backup, Cap'n?"

"Not yet. Let's just pull this speed demon over before someone gets hurt—or worse."

They hopped back into the police cruiser, turned on their sirens, and took off in pursuit of the driver.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Falcon cursed to himself when he heard the sirens and saw a feminine hand direct him to pull over. He did as he was told, put the Blue Falcon into park, and grabbed his license, registration and proof of insurance.

"I'll take this one," said Giulia as she got out of the cruiser and casually strode over to the Blue Falcon.

"Evening, officer," greeted Falcon when Giulia appeared at his front window.

"May I see your license and registration, please?" Giulia coolly asked.

"Uh—sure." Falcon handed everything over.

"Sir—do you know how fast you were going?"

"Uh—sixty-eight?"

"Almost eighty miles an hour. Do you know what the speed limit is around here?"

"Well—I…"

"It's fifty-five miles an hour. You were almost thirty miles over. And it's raining, too. This isn't a racetrack, sir."

"I—I'm truly sorry, officer. It's just—I have a lot on my mind."

"I can relate to that," smiled Giulia, "but just remember to keep an eye on your speedometer, all right? You're lucky you didn't run into pedestrians or other vehicles." She cocked her head, studying him. "Say—don't you remind me of someone?"

"If you know the world of F-Zero, then maybe." winked Falcon. "Show me ya moves, officer!"

"Uh—could you wait here?" asked Giulia before returning to the police vehicle.

She handed Falcon's information to Quinn, and they ran it through the scanner for routine purposes.

"He's clean," said Quinn. "First-time offense. Give him the citation, and let's be on our way."

But Giulia's eyes widened. "My God. That's Douglas Jay Falcon!"

"The racecar driver and bounty hunter?"

"Yeah! The masked man—the one who called Luigi that—that _name_! And pulled pranks on him! And brawled with him in the lounge!"

"You—think he's in danger?"

"I don't know. I just have a hunch."

On those words, Giulia hopped out of the cruiser and returned the license and registration to Falcon.

"Well?" asked Douglas.

"I'm afraid that I'm gonna have to write you up, Captain Falcon," said Giulia.

"I know. It will not happen again."

Briskly, Giulia wrote out the citation and handed it to the racer. "Make sure this is paid within thirty days. You also have a right to contest it. Just—don't Falcon Punch anyone in traffic court, okay?"

Douglas chuckled. "Okay."

Giulia nodded. "You stay safe out there, all right?"

"All right."

Falcon started his car and drove away, slower this time.

Giulia got back into the police cruiser and started the engine. "We'd better keep an eye on him."

"Is he dangerous?"

"No," said Giulia as she began to maneuver the car down the street. "I think _he's_ in danger."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"When were you gonna tell us?"

Val and Evelyn were now joined by Peach, Mario, Yoshi, Mandy, Evan and their twins in the chapel. It didn't take long for the five to figure out that Evelyn had a bun in her oven.

"Well—we wanted it to be a surprise," blushed Evelyn. "Plus, all of this other stuff was happening and…"

"Evelyn! We've got to get you ready!" cried Peach. "We gotta go shopping and start baby-proofing your place and—I'm putting together a baby shower!"

"I'm not even showing yet," giggled Evelyn.

"It's never too early," shrugged Peach. "How far along?"

"About two-and-a-half weeks," smiled Evelyn.

"Oh, boy. We need to give you some advice," said Mandy.

"We're all ears," said Val. "What about Liam and Leia? How are they doing?"

"They're not fussing too much—but it's a little hard to separate them," said Evan.

"We don't want them too co-dependent on each other," added Mandy.

"I look at them, and they remind me so much of me and my bro," Mario said wistfully. "We were very, very close—we still are. I think we shared a bedroom until we were around five."

"Yeah—uh—we don't want that," laughed Mandy. "It's great that they wanna look out for one another, but…"

"I get you," said Val.

Hearty laughter.

Then—

"I should've been there for him," said Mario.

"M, c'mon…" began Evan.

"No, Evan—I really should've been there for him, starting with the business with Falcon and Fox. I was way too forgiving when it came to them, too forgiving when it came to Pikachu and too forgiving when it came to the others. Even Grant—when he and Luigi had that falling-out—I should've done something. I stood up for him from elementary school onward, and he stood up for me. He saved my life—from Bean Fever and twice from those ghosts. He swallowed his fears for me. And I should've given him a shoulder to cry on, someone to talk to, to hold—it's all my fault. I left him to fend for himself, and he chose the avenue of vengeance because of it."

"Mario, stop beating yourself up about this," said Peach. "You did everything you possibly could. And Luigi reacted no more than anyone else would when driven to their wit's end. Like—with what we did to Crazy Hand."

"Why didn't I do that to Fox—or to Falcon, for that matter? Maybe they would've gotten the message that it wasn't just okay to do what they did and then live their lives pretending it never happened." Mario huffed. "There was this boy in the fourth grade named Mitchell who used to call me names—until he made the mistake of doing so in Luigi's presence. It took only one encounter for Mitchell to realize his mistake. And when I found older kids beating up Luigi, they steered clear of him after seeing my face once.

"If anyone hurt, threatened to hurt, demeaned, defamed or insulted my baby bro for any reason, then there'd be no place in this world they could hide from me. I wouldn't stick things in them or anything like that, but I'd still make them pay. Break some bones, leave some scars, stuff like that. And Giulia—hoo, boy—she really tested my resolve to never touch a woman in anger or violence when she antagonized Luigi."

"We feel the same way," said Evelyn.

Slowly, Mario crossed over to the altar and lit candles for the times his baby bro was there for him. He then passed the taper to Peach, who lit thirty-two candles for the thirty-two years she'd known the man in green. Finally, Evan lit three candles for the three years he'd spent as Luigi's friend and roommate, followed by Mandy lighting another three candles.

Would Luigi make it through this storm, as well as the storms ahead? Only time would tell. But his friends had faith that he would.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Back on the rainy streets, Falcon resumed his drive. The traffic citation was the least of his worries; he'd go to Master Hand tomorrow and take care of it. What was foremost on his mind was the churning in his gut. Unrelentingly, his mind replayed the fistfight in that lounge, the way he'd thrown a tumbler full of alcohol into Luigi's face, the way he'd sent him crumpling to the floor with an uppercut and how he'd spread out his arms and challenged him to show his moves. But most of all—he remembered Luigi's eyes during that fight. The way they'd dilated to the point that he could see his own sneering face reflected off them. The blue-black fire burning uncontrollably within each pupil. The fact that not only was there seething, searing rage in those eyes but also betrayal. Had he used anger to mask his hurt? Or was it that same hurt which made him accept his challenge to "settle things like men"? Those eyes had followed him everywhere he went and had haunted his dreams, even after the two of them made up. And then there was the rest of Luigi's face—reddened and going on purple, nostrils flaring, mouth a thin, hard line beneath his moustache and his jaw clenched. But Falcon had been too intoxicated to care.

He turned up his radio and turned onto a road he frequently used to practice his racing techniques. Well—this time, he had to go the speed limit because it was dark and rainy. But hopefully, going a few laps would soothe him.

Which it did.

For a while.

Douglas was in the middle of his sixth lap, his favorite song drowning out the rain pounding his vehicle. As peace found him, he started singing along. He also sensed the rain dying down somewhat, some gaps appearing between a few rainclouds. The cold feeling in his stomach was almost gone. He'd drive a few more laps, refuel and stay at a hotel for the night. Then, he'd wake up, head back to the Smash Mansion and be ready to bury this hatchet with Luigi once and for all.

Isn't it annoying how things don't work out the way we want sometimes?

So was the case with Falcon. His favorite song had finished, and another of his favorites was coming on when— _he saw him_.

There was Luigi. Standing there. In the middle of the road. In the rain.

Instinctively, Douglas braked, the Blue Falcon stopping less than a foot away from the plumber. He could swear the downpour kicked back up again at that moment.

Douglas got out of his vehicle and gasped when the chilly rain struck his skin. "Luigi?!" he cried. "What the heck?! I could've killed you!"

Luigi smiled, his hands behind his back. "Hello to you too, Falcon," he said sweetly, walking toward the racer. "You know—it's very—dangerous to go for a drive in pouring rain, especially at night. You never know what could—happen to you."

"I just—needed to clear my head," said Falcon.

Lightning flashed above them. Luigi was once again wearing his green ensemble, now drenched through and clinging to his skin. Falcon could see the contours of his muscles and the imprint of his navel through the wet fabric.

"What are you doing out here?" asked Falcon.

"I was about to ask the same to you," said Luigi. "Of course, we both know the answer to that question."

"What are you talking about?"

"I knew you'd try to run away," grinned Luigi.

"It's not like that," said Falcon.

"That's what it looked like to me. I knew you got my little package, and you were just wondering what I was doing to your old pal, Fox. But rather than face the consequences of your actions, you decided to make a run for it. I'm really starting to doubt your remorse, Falcon."

"C'mon, L. It was no big deal! I was gonna come back in the morning!"

"You still tried to hide from your problems! Why are you so scared to talk things out with me?"

"Now's—not a good time, okay? You had to endure multiple tragedies in a short time period, and frankly, I don't think you're in any condition to have this talk. You need a chance to recover from this."

"The same excuse. Always the same excuse! They always tell me that 'now's not a good time'. But all they're doing is delaying the inevitable!"

"Luigi…"

" _When is_ a good time?!" Luigi's left eye began to twitch. Falcon saw the vein throbbing in his temple and the side of his neck.

"L—you're starting to make me very nervous," said Douglas. "You're angry and upset, and you have every right to be, but you're borderline—manic. Before we even consider talking, you need to pull yourself together."

"Don't worry about Fox, Douglas," said Luigi. "I didn't hurt him—too much." And he didn't. No broken bones, no knife wounds, no permanent trauma. Just a body full of bruises, burns and minor fractures. After their conversation, Fox had gained some energy and managed to rally, taking one of Luigi's stocks. Just as it seemed that he'd fully rebound and win the match, even without his Blaster, Luigi turned things back around with his flying kick and served up a blistering, no-holds-barred combo to the vulpine, claiming the victory with a Misfire. After he'd caught his breath, he'd felt a little better and promised Fox that they'd talk things out before helping him to his room and bidding him good night. Then, he'd seen Falcon take off in his Blue Falcon—

"Uh. That's—that's good to know," Falcon said in relief.

"Besides—what he did was nothing compared to you. He was just your lackey. I think he helped you because—he didn't want to lose your friendship."

"That…" Falcon started to retort, but then it occurred to him that Luigi might be correct, as the majority of the pranking and harassing had come from his mind. He sighed. "Why are we doing this dance? Why now? You are obviously too worked up to discuss this."

"That's because I let you and Fox off with only a tap on the wrist. Those days are over."

Another flash of lightning.

Falcon started. Luigi's visage was still swollen and discolored from his confrontation with Quinlan. "J—s—what happened to you?"

"I let my guard down," replied Luigi.

Before Falcon could try to decipher that response, Luigi sprang for him!

"Holy…" The racer bounded out of harm's way as Luigi brandished the carving knife he'd concealed behind his back during their conversation, slashing it at the racer.

Falcon raised his arms to defend himself. "Are you out of your mind?!"

"Yeah—you could see it that way," Luigi said calmly, lunging at Falcon, who dodged.

"I'm definitely not talking to you like this! I'm outta here!" cried the racer.

But before he could turn to flee, Luigi grabbed him. Looking into those wild, dilated eyes, Falcon knew that the plumber was going—or gone.

"You're not going anywhere," Luigi stated menacingly before plunging the knife into Falcon's side.

Falcon gave a hoarse cry of agony as Luigi twisted the knife several times before yanking it out. Then, in a sudden burst of strength, Douglas wound up and Falcon Punched the man in green squarely in the face, knocking him back and allowing the racer to break free of his grip.

"Help! Police!" he screamed.

Just as he reached his car, something hard slammed into him, sending him to the floor.

Luigi flipped Douglas onto his back and sat on his chest, his face masked with blood. "Big [ _bleep_ ]-ing mistake, buddy," he growled before making a fist and slamming it into the racer's face, pain exploding and his jaw cracking, and then Luigi punched him over and over, nearly two decades' worth of hate, frustration and rage rearing its ugly head. As he paused to catch his breath, Falcon threw an elbow strike to the face, followed by a nasty kick to the stomach as he struggled to get away. But then Luigi grabbed his ankle, tripping him.

"You—smug—S.O.B." Luigi slammed his own elbow into Falcon with each word, and then continued to elbow-strike him until he was certain that the racer couldn't get up again. Then, he picked up the knife and drove it into Douglas a second time before viciously twisting it and pulling it out. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this, _Falcon_."

"Oh, God—why are you doing this?!" howled Falcon.

"Take one guess, a—hole," Luigi said tersely, plunging the knife in a third time, then a fourth, and then using his fingers to aggravate the wounds.

"I said I was sorry!" moaned Falcon.

"That's just not good enough!" retorted Luigi, punctuating each word with a painful slice. The racer could only watch as the words BACKSTABBING PIG were carved into his upper body, tearing his racer costume. Then, the heat rose to Luigi's face, and he commenced to stab the other man again and again and again, making sure to avoid vital areas as well as the message he'd embedded.

"How do you like that?" he taunted. "Huh? How do you like _that_?!"

"My God—what have you done to me?!" cried Falcon.

"Nothing you didn't deserve," replied Luigi, pounding on Falcon's abdomen, making blood squirt from his nose and mouth. "Now, tell me why I'm doing this to you. Tell me. _Tell me_!" He punched harder.

"B-be-because of what I did in the first tournament," stammered Falcon.

"You need to be more specific than that, Falcon."

"I—I started antagonizing and teasing you because you were at the bottom of that tier list. I got drunk—and then I said you were 'the last-place loser' and a n—b, and—and then we got into a fight!" Falcon cried in shame.

"What else did you do?"

"I tied your shoelaces together, ridiculed you online and in the stands when you were fighting, joined the other haters in throwing Maxim tomatoes and other things at you and pulled toilet pranks. And Fox helped me! And—in that Team Battle, I didn't lift a finger to help Sam—I left her to fend for herself while I preened and mocked our opponents. Then, I blamed _her_ when we lost and almost lost her respect and affection for me! And the reason you won against me by doing absolutely nothing was because I was too busy taunting you to take stock of the stage hazards! I—I didn't mean to hurt anybody. Fox and I were just having fun. Look what we did to you—oh, C—st!"

Delicately, Luigi wiped Falcon's tears. "I know you're not like the others," he said, his voice significantly softer, "so I won't treat you like I treated them. But unfortunately for you…" His voice started hardening again. "…I need to see to it that you'll never be tempted by such an attitude ever again."

"What—what do you mean?" squeaked Falcon. "I'm popular! I'm with the big dogs—I can't help it!"

Luigi smiled, trailing the knife down Falcon's body until he found the bulge in his costume. "That's exactly why I'm going to help you," he said quietly, pressing the knife down.

"No! God, please, no!"

"Police! Drop the knife!"

The two men turned. Quinn and Giulia had arrived on the scene, having heard Falcon's initial cry for help. Now, they stood there, service weapons drawn, accessing the situation. Douglas lay there, bleeding from multiple knife wounds, face beaten. Luigi knelt before him, a knife pressed against a rather—sensitive—area.

"Oh—look who it is," laughed Luigi. "Officer Taser and her beloved captain riding in to save the poor beleaguered citizen from the big, bad wolf!"

"Don't do this, Luigi!" said Giulia, her service weapon steady in her hand. "Quinn and I want to help you!"

"It's too late," said Luigi. "You see, I learned something through all of this. Out there, it's either predators or prey. You have to be one or the other."

"That's not true," Quinn said gently. "There's still some good in this world. It's what you and Mario have fought for over the past 32 years. Please, just give us the knife. No one will have to know what took place tonight."

"I don't believe you," Luigi said calmly, pressing the knife deeper against Falcon's clothed package, "but I believe that _someone_ is gonna lose a considerable part of his manhood if either of you move any closer."

"No! You're crazy! You're insane!" barked Falcon.

"Wow. Somebody call MatPat, because that's a good Game Theory right there," said Luigi before burning Falcon with his free hand.

"Officers—please tell Samus that I love her," Falcon said quietly, resigned to his fate.

"L—you know that we can't let you do this. What's everyone in the MK gonna think when they see you on the morning news?" Giulia tried gamely but in futility to reason with Luigi.

Luigi just giggled. "Well, then what are you waiting for? Are you gonna read me my rights?"

"Luigi, we're warning you," said Quinn.

Luigi ignored her. "I have the right to remain silent…" Slowly, he raised the knife. Falcon began reciting a Hail Mary.

"Luigi, please!" entreated Giulia.

"Anything I say…" The knife was now over his head. Falcon's voice rose in volume.

Giulia and Quinn had their fingers on their triggers. "L—if you don't comply, we'll have to open fire. Don't make us do that!"

"Can and will be…" The Hail Mary nearly drowned out those words.

"Last warning, Luigi!" said Giulia. "Drop the weapon, now!"

It was no use. The blade flashed as Luigi brought it crashing down toward Falcon, who was practically shrieking out his Hail Mary.

"Used against me…"

A single shot rang out across the dark and stormy night.

 **Don't hold your breath too long, folks.**

 **Only one chapter left after this. Please review.**


	52. Endings and Beginnings

**Endings and Beginnings**

 **The final chapter. Enjoy!**

* * *

"Has the jury reached a verdict?"

Giulia laid her hand on Bayonetta's shoulder, bracing her. Bracing herself.

"We have, Your Honor."

She could still remember that night, clearer than day. The bark of her service weapon, the recoil resonating down her arm and into her soul. She'd clipped him in the shoulder, sending him reeling with a shriek onto the rainy ground. Quinn rushing over to check on Falcon as Giulia holstered her weapon and dashed to the man in green. Luigi had been hysterical at first, rolling about on the floor and screaming expletives, but he clammed up once Giulia gently explained his situation to him. He was treated on the scene, advised of his rights, and led to the back of Giulia's police car, where he asked to have his lawyer present during questioning. Phoenix had met them at the precinct, where Luigi had given his statement. Meanwhile, Giulia relinquished her service weapon to Quinn and was once again placed on administrative leave.

Kovacs had agreed to have Luigi outfitted with an ankle monitor and released to Master Hand's custody. MH was deeply shaken over what had happened and wondered if there was anything he should've done. Dr. Mario and Kristy were also stunned. They thought he was doing so well! Perhaps what happened with Caroline had been the last straw. Nevertheless, they vowed to support him, and many Smashers offered themselves as character witnesses. When Leni received word of what had gone down, she grabbed her kids and returned to the Smash Realm with all haste. As for Falcon, he insisted that he didn't want to press charges, understanding why Luigi had done it and musing that it was a long time coming.

Simultaneously, Giulia was once again cleared of any wrongdoing by IAB, but she had to see the department psychiatrist and would be on desk duty for the next two months. Ironically, Luigi had vouched for her, understanding that the policewoman had saved him from himself that rainy night.

Phoenix pursued an affirmative defense, arguing that the years upon years of being a butt-monkey and a victim of _en masse_ bullying had culminated in a temporary break from reality. He brought in both Kristy and Dr. Mario as expert witnesses. For her part, it painted Kovacs to see Luigi sitting at the defendant's table and told herself that once this trial was finished, she would resign.

Today, however, was the day that a jury of Luigi's peers would decide his ultimate fate.

"Will the defendant please rise?"

Calm and dignified, Luigi stood, Phoenix beside him. He was genuinely remorseful for what he'd done to Falcon and realized that bottling up his emotions hadn't been the smartest thing he'd done. He'd accept the consequences gladly, if it came down to that. He just hoped that eventually, they'd track down Crazy Hand and drag him back to the Minus World before he set his sights on someone else.

"We, the jury, do find the defendant—not guilty by reason of mental defect."

Kovacs internally sighed with relief. She wasn't gonna bother with filing an appeal and wasting everyone's time. As far as she was concerned, Luigi needed to move on with his life, and there were worse criminals out there who deserved to be prosecuted.

"Congratulations, Luigi," smiled the judge. "You're free to go—provided that you promptly enroll in an anger management course and continue to see your therapist on a regular basis. Am I clear?"

Luigi nodded. "Yes, Your Honor."

"Understand that this court has decided to give you another chance. Let it not be in vain."

Vindicated, Luigi shook Phoenix's hand and then turned to face his friends and family.

"It's over," he said quietly. "Look, guys, I..."

Daisy shushed him. "We know," she said. "We know."

Flanked by the Smashers, his lawyer and his Princess, the man in green strode out of the courthouse, ready to better himself and to move on with his life.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

 ** _Three years later..._**

"Freeze! Hand over the loot!"

The "robber" pouted as she relinquished the bag of fake money. "No fair," she whined.

Giulia chuckled, looking over the little girl. "Crime doesn't pay," she told her. "Remember that."

The girl smiled. "I will, Mommy. Don't you worry."

Giulia slung the child onto her hip, musing over the direction her life took. After Luigi's "not guilty" verdict, he and Giulia had focused on repairing their friendship. He was doing quite well, showing up at his anger management class on time and actually delving into the material, not treating it like a burden. He'd told her he was seeing Kristy on a weekly basis, sending her daily reports and keeping a journal. Slowly but surely, he was gaining closure over Grant's death, hoping that he'd become a guiding light to a lost soul as the salesman was for him.

Career-wise, Giulia hadn't come under scrutiny again after that rainy night, and the public had finally swept the Taser incident under the rug. With a little nudging from Bayo and Luigi, she'd taken the Sargeant's exam and assumed her new rank six months after the trial. The perks were great, such as having her own office, but she also got to mentor fresh-faced officers just starting out and steer them in the right directions. It didn't take long for her to gain a "mother-hen" reputation, which made her think about—well—actually becoming a mother.

She and Bayo talked about it, and as their relationship grew more serious, they agreed that it was time. The couple adopted a girl named Emi; she was three years old at the time. Now, she was an outgoing, athletic and curious six-year-old, doing well in school and recently nominated for Class President. She could play too many instruments to list, was taking tennis and taekwondo lessons and loved her two moms dearly.

 _Look how far I've come_ , mused Giulia, smiling at her adopted daughter as she clung to her with chubby arms and looked at her with big, teal eyes. _It's a good life._

"Mommy," said Emi as she and Giulia sat down on the sofa. "What's Smash Bros?"

"It's a tournament where Nintendo characters compete and bond and win prizes—kind of like your tennis lessons have tournaments sometimes. You'll learn more of it when you get a bit older. But why the interest?"

"I saw a poster at the GameStop near school," explained Emi, "and I saw Mario and Samus and Kirby!" The girl had a lot of _Mario_ , _Kirby_ , and _Metroid_ games in her collection. "When I grow up, maybe I'll meet them!"

"Yeah," said Giulia. "Maybe you will."

"The last family they placed me in didn't like Mario very much. The green one."

"Oh?"

"I don't know his name. I know they just called him the Green Mario."

"Hmm," said Giulia. "Maybe before you go to bed tonight, I'll tell you the story—the _real_ story—about him."

"I get to hear about the Green Mario! You're the best mommy ever!" Squealed Emi.

"Emi—his name is Luigi," explained Giulia.

"Luigi? That's a cool name. I can't wait to hear about Luigi, Mommy."

"Your other mom and I are friends with him," said Giulia.

"That we are," said Bayo, striding into the room. "Resting from playing Cops and Robbers?"

"Yeah," said Emi.

Bayo kissed Emi's cheek. "Could you go to your room for a moment, please? Your two moms need some private time."

"Okay!" Emi kissed Giulia, hopped off her lap and skipped off to her room, singing, "I'm gonna hear about Luigi!"

"Hey, Bayo," said Giulia as the Umbra Witch sat beside her. "What's wrong?"

"I never said anything was wrong," said Bayo, kissing Giulia deeply on the mouth. Her hands were on her hips, sliding under her shirt.

"Easy, there. She can hear us," cautioned Giulia.

"But she's also playing with her toys," Bayo assured her. She captured her mouth again, and they kissed and kissed until they were giddy with ecstasy.

 _This really is my life_ , thought Giulia. And it was. She was with the woman she loved, raising a beautiful daughter together. She was back on good terms with a longtime friend, and she was still doing what she loved—serving and protecting. It just couldn't get better than this.

Or maybe it could.

Giulia's breath caught in her chest as Bayo knelt before her, holding out a ring. This ring was shaped like an eye and had a ruby set in its center.

"Cereza..."

"Giulia," said the Umbra Witch. "I want you to know that these past four years have been the best in my life—so far. When we found each other, it was in the eye of our own personal storms, and because we held on to each other, we battled these storms and made it to a place with better weather. You're not only the person I love and cherish, but you've become my best friend—and—I want to spend the rest of my days with you. Will you marry me?"

The policewoman threw her arms around Bayo. "Yes," she responded breathily. "A trillion yesses. I will, Cereza!"

They fell onto the sofa in a tangle of limbs, clothes flying off in a blur. Giulia wasn't going to spend another second mulling over her past—she had one heck of a future to look forward to.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Quinn lay on the examination table, excitement coursing through her veins as Dr. Mario applied the gel to her stomach. She squeezed the hand of the man seated next to her. He was just as anticipated.

If you told any of the Smashers that David Hayter, known to them as Solid Snake, was now a loving husband to Cecilla Quinn, the police captain, they'd have to see it to believe it. They were initially shocked to see him during the business with Luigi; they didn't recognize him at first. Clean-shaven, hair trimmed, wearing a polo shirt and slacks—but by no means domesticated. He was married to a law enforcement officer, and she helped him maintain that edge. The two of them had met on Shadow Moses Island, when he was a mercenary and she was a spy operative. She'd taught him to be less of a lone wolf and to be more sensitive, and he'd taught her to be more tactical when faced with danger. Snake saw many horrific things during his tenure as a merc, but with help from Quinn, he'd re-adjusted to civilian life after they'd returned home. She kept herself busy by joining the Smashville Police Department and working her way up to Captain, and he participated in the Brawl Tournament in 2008, where he befriended much of the roster—including Luigi.

Snake told his wife about the times he and Luigi spent together, either chatting in his cardboard box or lounging around in that haunted mansion. Luigi had been in a bit of a fragile state during Brawl, struggling with nightmares and feelings of guilt and regret after being manipulated by evil forces to act on his jealous feelings toward Mario. With his gruff yet fatherly nature, Snake had helped Luigi work past his guilt and was amazed when the man in green had been among the last standing in the battle against Tabuu. After he wasn't invited back for the fourth tournament, he and Cecilla had gotten married.

On Quinn's part, she'd fretted that the situation with Luigi would hurt her marriage, but the exact opposite happened. They emerged from it stronger than ever, as Snake promised her that he'd always stand by her, no matter what. After Giulia was promoted, the two of them went on frequent vacations, leaving the new Sergeant in charge. And some months ago, Quinn had awoken with nausea and abdominal pain, well past her time of the month. She'd gawked at the positive test for a full minute before breaking the news to Snake and making an appointment with Dr. Mario for a blood test to confirm her pregnancy. Despite approaching the wrong side of forty, everything was okay so far.

"Okey-dokey," said Dr. Mario as he moved the ultrasound wand over the police captain's belly. "Here's your baby."

Quinn and Snake stared at the ultrasound image of their little one, the tiny legs kicking, the fetal heart beating in a strong, sure rhythm.

"My," breathed Quinn. "It's a boy. We're having a boy."

"He's looking good," smiled Dr. Mario.

Snake had a hand over his mouth, stifling his sobs. "Wow," he managed.

"Maybe I should tell Master Hand that an alumnus of his tournament is gonna be a dad," said Dr. Mario.

"We should tell Giulia, too—she's gonna be over the moon!" Quinn chimed in. "My God, David. Look at our son. Our son."

"Our little Snake," added Snake.

"Naming him already?" Teased Quinn.

"That can be his nickname," smirked Snake, kissing Quinn. "I love you, Cap'n."

"You too, Snake."

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

For Leni, things were finally starting to come back together.

A week after the trial, she went into labor. Luckily, her kids were calm about it, Danny calling the obstetrician while Alex, Shelia and Nora set up the birthing pool. Leni had decided on a home water birth for this arrival. Any other kids would've shied away from this gross stuff, but not Leni's. Nora had read books and watched videos on how to help deliver a baby. While waiting for the midwife to arrive, the eldest daughter had stripped down to her birthday suit and gotten into the birthing pool with her mother. The boys held each of Leni's hands, and Shelia tended to her with a damp cloth.

By the time the midwife arrived, the baby was well on her way, Nora's voice cracking just slightly with excitement as she announced that she felt something sliding from the birth canal. Emma, the midwife, then took charge of the situation, directing when to push and when to rest. She could tell that this was a breech birth, and that this baby was arriving a week or so before her due date.

And with one final push, Myra Cordelia was born! Leni would always remember the way her new daughter came out, with her cute little patootie high in the air, as if declaring that she could care less about what this world thought of her family! She was crying and fussing even before she was completely out of the womb, and the completely spent Leni just broke upon hearing those cries. The tiny baby was placed on Leni's chest, her skin becoming pink almost instantly and her body temperature stabilizing upon contact with a familiar place. Leni just drank in the soft warmth of her newest bundle of joy, cuddling Myra close as the kids helped Emma clean her up.

"You're finally here," sobbed Leni as Myra calmed down, cooing and gurgling and salivating and sucking on her fingers. She was barely aware of Emma delivering the placenta and only partially aware of Nora and Shelia cutting the umbilical cord once it was safe to do so. Her focus right now was on Grant's last gift to her, a reminder to keep on living, to keep on fighting.

Emma ushered the kids from the room, allowing Leni to bond with the new arrival. Myra's eyes peeped open, her mom seeing her late husband in those hazel orbs.

"Oh, Myra! You're so perfect!" Tears spilled down Leni's face as she caressed her little one. "I know things aren't that great right now, but I'm gonna be the best mom I can be. I've mourned, I've grieved, but it's time for me to move on." She kissed the top of Myra's head, the baby staring curiously at her before inching her way to the first breast she saw and beginning to suckle.

She suckled for a long time—her other four kids weren't this hungry when they came out! Myra would take brief naps in between nursing, lulled by the sound of her mom's heartbeat. Then, those hazel eyes would open, and she'd latch back on.

At last, Myra was full, and both mother and baby decided that it was best to doze off for a while. So they did.

Myra Cordelia weighed in at 4 pounds, 14 ounces and was 17 inches long. She had her father's eyes and her mother's hair—and quite possibly her father's 'tude. Once she was in a nice, clean diaper and snugly swaddled, Myra was formally presented to her siblings. They wouldn't stop fawning over her, kissing her and cuddling with her. Dr. Mario, Luigi and Peach were summoned. Emma, Dr. Mario and Peach were worried because Myra was shy of the five-pound mark. Her heart and lungs were doing fine, but Dr. Mario told Leni to try to beef Myra up until she was at least 5 pounds.

And as for Luigi, he was in love as soon as Myra was in his arms. She reminded him of his late friend, especially those eyes and that mouth. He rocked her back and forth, singing a lullaby.

"Myra," he intoned, "when you're a little older, you'll learn how much your dad meant to me."

That was when Myra smiled at him, grasping his index finger with a tiny hand. She already knew.

For the first few days after Myra's birth, this was the routine. Her mom and siblings taking care of her and loving her, introducing her to family friends and Smashers alike. Luigi stopping by for some quality time with her, Leni even allowing him to hold Myra skin-to-skin. It didn't take rocket science for her to know that he was getting better. Maybe he needed anger management, after all.

Recently, Leni had connected with other widowed parents in an online grief chatroom. One user in particular had arrested her attention, a widowed father, also struggling with guilt and questions over what he could've done to save his spouse, who'd died protecting their two sons from a vicious beast. Hearing his story made Leni think of Lucas and his act of kindness at her in-laws' funeral.

When Myra was two months old, Leni and her brood hopped on a flight to Nowhere. The Nowhere Islands, that is. It was there that she met the person she'd communicated with in that chatroom—Flint, Lucas's father! He'd lived in quasi-isolation with the family dog, Boney, after losing Hinawa and Claus, but Leni's caring-but-tough stance gradually drew him back out. She spent a month or so with him in Nowhere before inviting him to move into the guestroom of her house, to which Flint agreed. The relationship progressed through the years, Flint becoming a stepfather-of-sorts to Leni's kids. He was there when Myra took her first steps, said her first words ("I love you!"), was weaned off the diapers and the bottle, learned her ABCs and 123s and made her first friends in preschool. Leni was there to help Flint bridge the rift between him and Lucas. It wasn't long before Leni and Flint fell in love and went public with their relationship, Nora even stating that they should "just get a room already". The two married in a sweet, outdoor ceremony, with Myra as the flower girl and Lucas as the ring-bearer, warmly welcoming Leni into his family.

Leni and Flint now resided in Onett, with five children, two dogs—and another baby on the way. Lucas was really looking forward to being a stepbrother. But Boney and Spirit had hit it off rather quickly, sharing a doghouse since before their owners got married, so it shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone when a litter of puppies was born to them one summery morning. Of course, the kids were enamored of the pups, and were none-too-pleased to find out that these pups would be put up for adoption when they came of age.

Nobody could replace Grant, and the aches and longing were still present. But Leni was still happy with how her life turned out in the wake of her husband's suicide. Time couldn't heal all wounds, but at least it was a good start.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Val and Evelyn were doing pretty good, too. At their ultrasound, they discovered that they were having twin girls. Shortly after Myra was born, Mallory Rose and Justice Alexandra were born via C-section in Dr. Mario's clinic. Mallory had dirty-blonde hair, while Justice had Val's jet-black hair. Both girls had their mother's eye shape and their father's eye color. The new parents spent their waking hours doting on the twins, making sure they were present for as many key moments as possible. Once Mallory and Justice were walking, talking, potty-trained and in preschool, Val and Evelyn expanded their P.I. business, helping clients ranging from the mundane to the fantastic, busting affairs, underhanded deals, juveniles sneaking out past curfew and more. Often, Luigi would stop by and volunteer, and as long as he was letting out energy, the two of them couldn't complain. The girls were also super-friendly with Liam and Leia.

Valentine "Val" O'Halloran and Evelyn Fisk. Two adventurous gamers and Luigi fans. And now, man and wife, devoted parents. Forever—for life.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

Alexis Kovacs made good on her promise. The day after Luigi's verdict came in, she resigned from her position and joined Phoenix's firm as a defense attorney. Two years later, she left and started her own law firm with a few old pals from law school. Kovacs, Berman and Abbott specialized in business ethics and harassment cases and was featured in the _Smashville Lawyer_ magazine only half a year into its inception. To this day, Kovacs maintained that leaving her old post was the best decision she ever made.

Dr. Mario and Kristy continued to see each other. To avoid a conflict of interest, she quit her job in his clinic and opened up a clinic of her own. Though it was based in the Smash Realm, she soon had branches opened across the globe. This clinic was aimed at women's health, psychiatry and pediatrics, but she never turned anyone away. Her methods combined Dr. Thorpe's group therapy with traditional one-on-one sessions, and it was a major success, to put it lightly. She and Dr. Mario were now engaged and planned to marry next year on a sunny beach in L.A.

Dr. Thorpe remained as a consultant to both Dr. Mario and Kristy. She, too, began operating clinics in Third World countries. While vacationing in London one summer, she met a dashing fellow named Linus. After dating for fourteen months, the two were married in a beautiful ceremony at a church in Westchester and honeymooned in West Sussex. Emily and Linus moved to Henderson, Nevada, and they were now expecting a daughter.

Speaking of Henderson, Cerena Cydney Sparks married the female Wii Fit Trainer, both brides clad in white workout gear, at San Francisco City Hall. Her old and new friends, even her exes, were in attendance. Melody, her first love, toasted the couple, while Lauren, her prom date, caught the bouquet. Cerena and her wife honeymooned on the California coast before returning triumphantly to the Smash Realm. Just recently, they adopted a son, Oliver.

Cloud and Reflet also got married after the trial, on Final Destination, with MH officiating. They went to Midgar for their honeymoon, where they stayed for the better part of a year. The two planned to have a child via surrogate.

As for Crazy Hand—well—he was never seen or heard from again. Some say that he escaped to another dimension to wreak havoc, while others say he rejoined the Bennigan Brothers to live a quiet life under an assumed name. In other Bennigan news, Tanya had married Tina long after the duo had fled the Smash Realm. Nobody has seen or heard from them, either.

So, life was pretty much good.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

"Time's up," said Kristy.

Luigi stretched. "Wow. Time flies when you're having fun."

Kristy smiled. "Your progress has been impressive, Luigi. You haven't been involved in any incidents since that night."

"That's because I stopped bottling things up inside," said Luigi.

Things had never been better for the mustachioed man in green. He'd successfully completed his anger management program and went to all of his appointments with Kristy, rain or shine. He wrote in his journal, spent most of his time at his easel or at his grand piano, and recently took up pottery lessons. Also, he hung out with Evan, Mandy, Evelyn and Val and their kids. When Leni and Flint came to visit, the plumber would share some quality time with Myra, who reminded him more and more of Grant as she grew older. He could better control that monster inside of him, to the point where he didn't feel any urges for violent revenge at all. If Giulia hadn't pulled that trigger—he didn't allow himself to complete that thought.

After things settled down and Fox and Falcon had recovered, the two of them, accompanied by Pikachu, finally sat down with Luigi for a much-needed talk about the past, Luigi saying the things that needed to be said, and the three of them making the apologies they needed to make. The racer and the vulpine didn't hold Luigi's outburst that night against him, knowing that it was the result of him repressing so much for so long. They saw how much they'd hurt the plumber, and knew that they couldn't take it back. But after listening to Luigi's words, they vowed never to act in such a way again. Luigi's relationships with the three improved drastically after they talked. He didn't feel that sweltering anger at them when he faced them on the battlefield. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he slept well. And Falcon, Fox and Pikachu could breathe easily again, knowing that their transgressions against Luigi had been forgiven—at last.

The talk had also improved things between Falcon and Samus, as the racer finally mustered the courage to talk to the bounty huntress about that Team Battle in which he scapegoated her. Sam talked about how his behavior and attitude had hurt her, as well as the mark it had left on their relationship. She talked herself tired, but at least she got it all out. A week later, the two of them went on a little vacation in Miami, Florida. And a year after it all went down, the two of them wed on the Mute City racetrack, driving away together in the Blue Falcon. Their child, a daughter, was due any day now.

"I have some interesting news," said Kristy, bringing Luigi back to the present.

"What's that?"

"You have been deemed rehabilitated," announced Kristy. "This was the last session you are required to attend."

"Really? Oh, that's wonderful!" Gushed Luigi.

"I hope we can still see each other, though—on an outpatient basis."

"Whenever a problem arises, I'll be sure to tell you," promised Luigi.

"But did you learn something from all of this?"

"Yeah. To never let my temper get the better of me, and to try and use our words."

"And for goodness sake, when someone tries to provoke you, ignore them," added Kristy.

Luigi grinned ear to ear. "Got it." He extended his hand. "Thank you, Dr. Park. For everything."

Kristy shook her patient's hand. "L—it was my pleasure," she said warmly.

Luigi stood, gathered his things, and exited the office for the final time.

For a while, at least.

 **LLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL**

The man strode pompously into the cubicle, where the guy wearing glasses was laboring at a computer. "Hey, NERD!" Barked the man.

The guy in glasses calmly looked up from his work. "What can I do for you, sir?"

The man, the guy's supervisor, grinned. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Time for me to endure yet another round of sardonic barbs about what a lousy worker I am?" Deadpanned the guy in glasses.

The supervisor was speechless over his favorite target speaking to him like that.

"It appears that you've grown popular," the glasses guy went on, holding up a cell phone. "Someone wants to talk to you."

The supervisor had no idea who wanted to talk to him at this hour, but he decided to humor the glasses guy and took the phone.

"Hello," he said. "Who is this?"

"Do you recognize my voice?"

The supervisor's blood went to ice. "Y-yes, Luigi," he managed to say.

"Then listen to me very carefully. I've had my eye on you, and I don't like what I'm seeing you do to poor Herman over there."

Herman, the glasses guy, smirked.

"Tell me—what has he ever done to you? He does his work faithfully, doesn't he?"

"I—I..." Stammered the supervisor.

"Are you bullying him just for the heck of it? Because I don't like people who do that."

The supervisor began to sweat.

"I don't know who you think you are, buddy. I don't know what you're trying to prove. But I want _you_ to know that I have a—particular—set of skills. Skills which make me a living nightmare for people like you. If you leave my friend Herman alone, that will be the end of it. I will not look for you; I will not pursue you. But if you don't—then I _will_ look for you. I _will_ find you. And I will make you regret it with every fiber in your being. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Luigi," the supervisor choked out.

Chuckling. "Catch you later, buddy."

 _Click_. Dial tone.

Herman cocked his head at his supervisor. "You were saying, sir?" He asked pointedly.

"N-nothing," stammered the supervisor. "K-keep up the good work." And he hiked out of the cubicle fast.

And in his room in the Smash Mansion, Luigi Mario, that mustachioed man in green, smiled wickedly to himself, lovingly stroking a photograph of him and his best friend Grant—the only one who would truly understand him—gone, but never forgotten.

"Ah, yes," he said to the photo. "We are still very much in business."

 **FINE**

 **This is also the end of the L is Real series. A fitting conclusion to a trilogy, don't you think?**

 **Special Thanks:**

 **pichuplayer: You were a consistent reviewer throughout the second and third stories, and I'll always consider you part of the L is Real family. Thanks for helping me make three L is Real stories happen.**

 **Arctic01: Another member of the L is Real family. We met when I was writing L is Real 2016, and I'm happy that its sequel got your attention. I hope you are doing well.**

 **SolarTBA (formerly SolarEnergy07): I originally didn't plan to write L is Real 2017, but the idea was in my head even while I was finishing up LiR2016, so I decided to just roll with it. I hope you enjoy the finished product. Thanks for reviewing this story from the beginning! You are truly part of the L is Real family!**

 **YugiohOriginalFan4Life: Another L is Real family member who followed me from LiR2016. I'd like to thank you for your support.**

 **SeththeGreat: I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking a chance with this story. And even though we started off on the wrong foot in LiR2016, I am proud to call you a friend and a core member of the L is Real family. You actually gave me some suggestions this time around. Like with breaking the fourth wall—I was aiming for some comic relief, but I can see why it was a bit awkward. Also, good job on your latest Wasteland story; I enjoyed seeing Snake's character development.**

 **I wish you all the best, along with the others who read, reviewed, followed and favorited my story. Happy early Thanksgiving, and Season's Greetings!**


End file.
